


House of Steele: Steeling a Dream Part Three

by SteeleHoltingOn



Series: Diamonds of Steele/Two Holts 'Verse [3]
Category: Remington Steele (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Kidfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-20
Updated: 2009-11-20
Packaged: 2018-08-08 05:24:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 94,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7744945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SteeleHoltingOn/pseuds/SteeleHoltingOn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remington and Laura receive an unexpected gift from Ireland ... one that changes their lives forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_She packed the most precious items she owned into a single small suitcase in the dead of the night.  On top of three changes of clothing and the money that Johnny insisted she keep hidden in her room, she dropped a letter, a pocket photo album and an old doll from her mother.  As she ran the zipper around the outside edge, she scanned her room one last time, stopping on a little black and white portrait of a small boy that she kept on her dresser.  She stuffed it--frame and all--into the side pocket._

_Housekeeper gave her an awkward hug and her coat before watching her slip into the passenger seat of a tattered blue Audi._  
  
_An hour later, she was aloft, and the plane winged its way across the Atlantic._  
  



	2. Dawn

_Friday, 3 June 1988 -- 10 Weeks, 1 Day  
  
_ Laura Elizabeth Steele wrinkled her nose as she listened to her husband swear without compunction from   
where he had wedged himself above the ceiling tiles in the reception area.  Their youngest associate,   
Kaleb Carter, perched on a ladder, and only the bottom half of him was visible from where she stood.  
  
“I’ve seen mice pick through wires with more finesse than that bloody rat,” Remington groused as he   
repaired the breached security system of Remington Steele Investigations.  
  
Wincing inwardly, Laura began a slow methodical search in the reception area for listening devices.  The   
aforementioned rat by the name of Tony Roselli--an American spy who’d crossed the Steeles’ path too   
many times for their comfort--had tripped their security system deliberately to draw their attention and   
force a confrontation.  
  
At the moment, Roselli was working with Interpol to keep tabs on an Irish mob boss by the name of   
Johnny Carlisle, a member of the Dublin Six and Remington’s cousin by way of their mothers.  
  
Remington’s cousin--now that came as a surprise to her.  And that was putting it mildly.  Try a gut punch   
to the middle.  But the fury she’d seen in Remington’s face when Carlisle had turned up at their office   
earlier that day eclipsed her own roiling anger.  She knew he had scattered family members around   
Ireland, none that he claimed.  To have one land on their doorstop earlier that day had unsettled her more   
than she cared to admit.  
  
She lifted pictures and looked behind furniture, working through her irritation.  She shoved a little harder   
than necessary to move the chairs back into place.  
  
Three things made her see red.  First, Carlisle had asked them to pull Interpol off his case, which wasn’t   
possible as they hadn’t set the police agency on him to begin with.  Second, Remington had given the   
man a contact.  Her husband hadn’t said precisely, but Laura figured that Carlisle was on his way to the   
Bahamas to meet his teenage daughter before going into hiding.  Third, finding Tony Roselli had stuck his  
long nose into their business again had her fingertips flexing into claws.  
  
Remington’s explanation mollified her somewhat.  Apparently, Johnny’s mother had taken him in as an   
infant and raised him until her own passing when he neared the age of four, after which Carlisle had   
passed him to various cousins who had alternately abused and neglected him.    
  
Knowing her husband as she did, she understood that he held Johnny fully accountable--not only for his   
own harsh childhood, but for the hundreds of people his cousin had harmed in his quest for power and   
money.  Only out of respect for his great-aunt, Carlisle’s mother, and sympathy for the daughter had   
Remington given over any advice at all.  
  
The Steeles hadn’t given Tony that little piece of information.  It would have been far too complicated to   
explain why Remington had given Carlisle a head start, even as he had believed it was too late for his   
cousin to elude Interpol’s reach.  
  
Their confrontation with Roselli had left the spy with only a sketchy understanding of the relationship   
between the two Irishmen and the mistaken belief that Carlisle had only asked Steele’s assistance in   
getting Interpol off his tail.  Neither Remington nor Laura had mentioned the girl.  Thinking about the   
way they’d neatly glossed over the whole conversation with Carlisle to Tony had her smirking as she   
picked her way through Carter’s office.  
  
While Remington and Kaleb fiddled with the security system, Laura continued to check the office for   
bugs the agent might have left behind.  Given the situation with Johnny Carlisle, she was sure that Tony   
had orders to plant them if possible.  
  
She found two, both of them small and easily overlooked.  One was stuck to the rear edge of a picture   
frame in her office and the other behind the window shade in Remington’s.  
  
Years ago, late on a Monday night after closing a particularly sensitive case involving a state senator and   
a scheme to publicly discredit him, Laura had found Remington in the office sliding his fingers along   
every surface imaginable.  She still recalled his snarky grin as he discovered the transmitter.  
  
Since that day, they’d made a habit of periodically sweeping for bugs.  From time to time, Laura or   
Remington hid them in their associates’ offices to see how long it took each person to find them.  They   
gave out fifty-dollar-bonuses for discoveries made within twenty-four hours of the plant.  Even Ian   
Connelly, the office secretary and least sneaky of the agency team, now checked the lobby and break   
room once a week.  Sandra Martinez, the newest detective in the agency, had made a wry observation to   
Laura after the first one she’d discovered in a plant she had on her desk that it certainly made one want   
to keep the knickknacks in the office to a minimum.  
  
Whatever irritation Laura had tamped down after shoving around furniture fired into a slow burn again   
after finding the surveillance devices.  Suspecting someone wanted to keep an eye on them was one   
thing; it was another to have it confirmed.  She just knew Interpol had a hand in having the bugs planted.  
  
After becoming aware of the Steeles' unique talents in Ireland, Interpol had approached them about giving  
new agents training in the way the pair solved cases, not to mention figuring out how Remington had   
eluded their grasp for nearly a decade.  Laura had hammered out a deal with James Buchanan only in the   
past two weeks but had yet to put the final touches on it.  At the moment, she planned to have a long talk   
with Buchanan and rethink this idea of training recruits--if they were honestly recruits and not there   
strictly to spy on the Steeles.  
  
She retrieved the hammer from the tool box in the break room and smacked the bugs with satisfying   
gusto--splattering the electronic guts all over the table--then winced as she remembered that Mr. Steele   
would have wanted to study them before destroying them.   _Oh, well.  Too late now.  Perhaps he can  
make something of the pieces._  She brushed all the parts into an evidence bag and dropped it onto   
Remington’s desk.  
  
While waiting for the men to finish, Laura sorted through the files on her own desk and found one that   
needed her attention.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
As he lay on his back in the ceiling, repairing the security system, Remington became aware of Carter’s   
intent gaze.  With characteristic patience, he waited, knowing the young man would spit out his words   
before long.  
  
“Sir?”  
  
He slanted a glance at his apprentice.  “How many times do I have to tell you to call me anything but   
‘sir’?  I’m not a bloody knight.”  
  
Carter grinned, pearly white teeth standing out in the darkened area.  “Sir Steele.”  
  
His retort was pithy and rude, followed by, “What’s your question, mate?”  He muttered another curse   
as he wedged his hands into the box and replaced a broken wire.  
  
“Have you ever had to shoot anyone?  Mrs. Steele held a gun on Roselli from where she was hiding and   
had me do it when she walked through the door.”  
  
Remington waited a beat before answering.  “Shoot at someone, yes.  Actually hit someone, fortunately,   
no.  Although Laura--no, that was Kate masquerading as Laura--tagged a guy in Malta with a flare gun.    
He fell into the water.  I think the police fished him out and patched him up.  I don’t particularly like guns  
… though I understand the need to have them from time to time.”  
  
He turned so that he lay on his back and pulled out another wire.  As Kaleb handed him a new one,   
Remington casually noted, “You’ve started carrying.  Laura rather likes her new Beretta, but she rarely   
keeps it with her unless a particular situation calls for it.”  
  
The twenty-year-old shifted uncomfortably at the pointed statement but held still when he answered,   
“Things are rough where I live.  It seems logical.”  
  
In that way men do when they are discussing serious topics, Steele kept his voice low and nonchalant.     
“I’ve spent most of my life avoiding firearms and drugs.  I don’t like either one.  The former seems to be   
a quicker solution to a question that might be better answered with intelligence and patience.  The latter is  
a fool’s choice.  But one can’t think properly while using, which explains why the two are often paired   
together.  All in all, I prefer my wits to a weapon--but I’ve used both.”  
  
Sensing he’d said enough, Remington changed the subject.  “Hand me those wire cutters, will you?”  The   
two men worked comfortably side-by-side, leaving Kaleb with a great deal of thinking to do.  
  
  
  
By three in the morning, the damage had been repaired, and Remington finished sweeping the ceiling area  
for bugs.  Dust sprinkled all over his black clothing and Kaleb’s skin had Laura chuckling when they   
walked into her office.  
  
“You two look as if you’ve been playing in the snow,” she said.  
  
Wearily, he exchanged looks with Kaleb and shot her a dirty one.  “Would you prefer to crawl around in   
the ceiling next time, Mrs. Steele?”  
  
Biting her lip, the sparkle still danced in her eyes.  “No, no.  I think you do a perfectly adequate job.  I   
wouldn’t want to mess up your system, in any case.”  
  
“Perfectly adequate?  You’ll pay for that later, love.”  He dropped a kiss on her temple while she stacked   
files and cleaned off her desk.  
  
Laura reminded Kaleb to mark his time down.  “It’s too bad I can’t bill this to anyone but Mr. Steele, but   
he’s good for it in any case.”  
  
“Sure thing.”  The young man rubbed his bald head and yawned.  “No offense 'cause I like late nights   
and all, but I’m bushed.”  
  
Remington dug a thumbnail into his finger to keep from doing the same.  
  
Laura ducked down their connecting corridor, returning with a bag of electronic parts to hand to him.    
Frowning at her, he asked, “What’s this?”  
  
“It’s what is left of the bugs I found after I smacked them with a hammer.”  
  
He raised his right brow at her before escorting her out the door.  
  
  
  
Laura fell asleep in the Lexus on the way home.  When Remington parked in their private garage below   
the apartments, he used his fingers to stroke one of the locks of her hair that had pulled free of her   
ponytail.  Pride filled him over the way she’d handled herself with Roselli--not that she needed his   
approval, but given that she was nearly three months along in her pregnancy, she’d kept herself safe as   
she assessed the situation.  He’d been in a nervous twitter about having her partner him while they   
determined who had broken into the agency, but he’d promised her he wouldn’t be the one to decide   
what she could and could not do in the coming months.  
  
As he watched her sleep, he resisted the urge to carry her upstairs.  The few pounds she’d gained already   
didn’t matter to him, but he didn’t want her indignant over being treated as an invalid.  After injuring her   
knee both times, she’d needed help any number of ways--the least of which involved getting from point   
A to point B.  As her body had healed, she’d refused to lean on him any more than necessary--using the   
crutches even when he willingly offered assistance.  The simple Neoprene wrap she wore now constantly   
reminded him of the recent injury.  
  
But he’d made it clear to her that carrying her to the bedroom for sex was entirely different, and she   
would have to live with it.  After he’d ably demonstrated why, she’d agreed that making love warranted a   
special dispensation.  
  
He indulged himself for several minutes, looking at her in the dim light emanating from the small fixture   
overhead in the garage before leaning back against the headrest and closing his eyes--telling himself it   
would only be a moment.  A memory of sleeping in a car with her early in their association had his lips   
twitching as he thought about how much he’d enjoyed ribbing Murphy about that one for weeks.  
  
Other memories of cars--making love in them, hiding in them, living in them because he had no other   
place to go--drifted in and out of his thoughts as sleep pulled him under.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
She woke in the dark, feeling slightly chilled, and it took her a moment to realize she still sat in the car.    
She could hardly see Remington still propped up against the window, dead to the world.  
  
He jumped when she opened the door and then gave her a heavy-eyed smile.  “Sorry, love.  Shall we go   
upstairs?”  
  
Laura laughed as she got out of the car.  He made it sound as if they’d been dancing in a hotel ballroom,   
and he was inviting her back to his room.  “Of course, dear.  Anything for you.”  
  
Obviously catching on to her thinking, he gave her a comical half bow and escorted her to the penthouse.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
The brief nap revived Remington enough to enable him to duck into the shower and wash away the dirt.    
Laura, on the other hand, apparently had enough energy bouncing around that she decided a naked Mr.   
Steele shouldn’t be wasted.  As he toweled himself dry in the bathroom they shared, she appeared in the   
doorway wearing only his black shirt and a sultry smile.    
  
He couldn’t miss what she had in mind, but he teased her all the same.  “Now, that is an excellent look   
for you, Laura.  You should try it at the office sometime.”  
  
“I don’t think so.  You have enough trouble concentrating on work as it is.”  She stepped inside and   
pulled the towel from his grasp, dropping it to the floor.  
  
Attempting to keep a straight face, he scratched the back of his neck.  “I was only commenting about the   
shirt.  Really, Laura--you mustn’t let your imagination run away as you do from time to time.”  
  
“I shouldn’t?  But, Mr. Steele, that wouldn’t be any fun at all.”  She leaned against the bathroom counter   
and began walking her fingers across his chest and then dragging them down through the black curls.  Her  
brow arched as she noted his body's response.  
  
“Ah … well now … you didn’t tell me you were looking for fun.  I’m an expert in that.”  He lifted her to   
the counter and let his hands play in her hair.  He liked that she still wore it long and let the strands slide   
through his fingers.  
  
“I seem to have found it all by myself.”  She quirked her mouth upward, and he grinned as her hands   
found his awakening erection, stroking long enough to get the results she desired before wandering off to   
play in his hair again.  Raising her arms, she pulled his head to hers and tasted his mouth.  Desire rushed   
through him, heightening when he dropped his hands to glide down the silk of the shirt, catching the tips   
of her breasts in the process.  
  
One of his own arms went around her back as he leaned into the kiss, and the other slid under the shirt.    
He dusted a thumb over the nipple, leaving it taut in its wake.  With that same hand, he flipped open one   
button after another and brushed the silk aside, exposing her to his view. He pulled his mouth away long   
enough to ask, “Laura?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Exactly where are we going to trip the light fantastic?  Here or the bed?”  
  
Instead of answering, she wrapped her legs around his hips and touched her lips to his chest.  He   
watched in the mirror as she kissed his collarbone and scraped her nails lightly along his shoulders and   
back.      
  
He shivered as need vibrated under his skin.  Without prelude, he sank into her body, drowning in the   
sensation of her flesh surrounding and welcoming him in.  After the harrowing day they’d had, he needed   
her more than he’d realized.  Her familiar touch, the soft scent of her skin, and the little gasps she uttered   
as he found ways to pleasure her more thoroughly soaked into him, pushing his own desire higher.  
  
They’d fought damned hard to find this place where joy saturated their lives.  But for ten weeks, he’d   
watched the happiness trickle away like sand through the fingers; and no matter how tightly he clenched   
them, the pieces of their lives slipped through.  He’d struggled in despair until he'd discovered Laura   
catching all those fragments and putting them back together again.  
  
To know now beyond a shadow of a doubt that Laura not only loved him, but would fight for and   
defend that love was humbling.  
  
Despite all that had happened in the past ten weeks, Laura loved him.  
  
God knew, he loved her.  
  
Remington held her to him with the one arm and used the other hand to stroke her hair and face as he   
tilted her head back to plumb the depths of her mouth.  Long, slow strokes of his body in hers had him   
clenching his jaw to hold back his climax while she found hers.  But he didn’t let her come down much   
from the peak.  
  
Still connected, he carried her to the bed.  With practiced grace, he laid her down and began again.  
  
  
* * * * *  
  
  
It was somewhere after noon when Laura took her own shower, and it was there she appreciated how far   
she’d come in her therapy for post-traumatic stress disorder.  Her first reaction to cold hadn’t been fear   
at all, just a touch of confusion.  Grateful to Dr. Angelo, Laura leaned against the tile while the water   
rained down and realized that she hadn’t had any nightmares last night either despite seeing that awful   
video.  Although neither of them wanted it in their home, Remington had locked it up in their safe.  She   
didn’t really believe that copies didn’t exist, knowing Interpol, but there was a certain consolation all the   
same.  
  
The water felt good against her breasts and belly.  She rubbed the latter where it itched before shutting   
off the shower and drying with a towel.  She found Remington leaning against the door, watching.    
Judging by the look in his eye, she knew he had something on his mind.  He had dressed in a loose, short   
sleeve burgundy shirt that he’d left unbuttoned and a pair of light gray slacks that clung attractively.  She   
admired his physique yet again.  “You know, some day I’m going to get used to the fact that you are so   
damned handsome.”  
  
He cocked a black eyebrow at her and caressed her with his eyes.  “I hope not, Miss Holt.  I haven’t yet   
with you.”  
  
She tilted her head in inquiry as she neatly hung the towel on the bar, not bothering to dress.  “That’s the   
third or fourth time you’ve called me that in the last two days.  Have I missed something?  You usually   
only call me ‘Miss Holt’ when you’re annoyed with me.”  
  
A touch to her waist brought her to him, and the press of his bare chest against hers warmed her to her   
toes.  “Do I?”  He shook his head.  “It was quite inadvertent.  Last night, I was thinking of the first time   
we slept in a car together.  You were ‘Miss Holt’ then, and I had a terrible case of lust.”  Fingers at the   
small of her back made her shiver.  
  
She touched a finger to his chest and drew it slowly downward until she brushed the front of his slacks.    
“And what exactly do you call this?”  
  
“That, Mrs. Steele?” he emphasized.  “All yours if you want it.”  
  
She rolled her eyes.  “I seem to recall, years and years ago, telling my girlfriends that I didn’t want a man   
who acted as if he were a randy adolescent all the time.  How did I end up with you?”  
  
“The same way I ended up with a woman that lights up like a torch the moment we touch.  It’s your   
entire fault anyway.  I can be sitting at my desk, minding my own business, and one look from you has  
me--"  He trailed off with a wiggle of the eyebrows.  
  
“Itchy?” she offered with a grin as she pulled his body to hers.  
  
“Itchy.  That’s an apt description, Mrs. Steele.”  
  
“Ah.  Didn’t get enough last night?”  She raised her eyebrows.  Remington had been in rare form when   
they’d come home, even for him--taking his time to relearn her body’s secrets again and again.  She’d   
awakened deliciously refreshed and craving him again, as he apparently was her.  
  
“Never, Laura.”  His blue eyes lit from within as she lifted her mouth to his.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Fascinated by the way Laura’s body was changing, Remington took his time making love to Laura again   
that Saturday afternoon, grateful that the annoying symptoms of the first few weeks of pregnancy had   
subsided.  
  
As her appetite recovered, she’d begun craving all sorts of foods, alternately intriguing and horrifying him   
by the combinations she chose.  Pickles and ice cream were only the beginning; she had wanted   
enchiladas for lunch nearly every single day this week, steak for dinner and gallons of apple cider.  Not   
apple juice, of course.  It had to be apple cider, or she wouldn’t drink it.  An hour after dinner for each of   
the last three days, he’d found her standing at the refrigerator, tasting a dish, snitching a grape and   
dipping a finger into the sour cream--all in an effort to figure out what would satisfy her taste buds.  
  
Remington had stayed on his toes and insisted on making healthy dishes good for both her and the baby,   
but he’d caught her sneaking back into the office twice this week after a trip for ice cream, accompanied   
by Mildred who cheerfully complained that Laura’s pregnancy was going to increase her waistline.  
  
In the past week, he had also discovered that no matter how responsive to his touch Laura might have   
been prior to becoming pregnant, now she was twice as sensitive--which was rather enjoyable as he only   
had to work half as hard but unnerving at the same time.  Despite the reassurances of the pregnancy   
books, the doctor and Laura herself, he was rather uneasy about unleashing his ardor for her.  He did his   
best to keep their lovemaking to the sweet and tender kind--when she was willing to cooperate.  
  
This afternoon she had, and now they were lazily moving about the penthouse.  Laura wandered down   
the hallway to the two bedrooms with her cup of tea--decaf as Remington had insisted.  The short   
hallway led into a decent sized bathroom, the laundry room and two bedrooms--one of which was used   
as their workout room and one as a guest bedroom.  
  
She wandered between the bedrooms.  Remington saw the puzzled expression on her face as he strolled   
toward her.  “What’s on your mind, love?”  
  
“Just trying to imagine one of these rooms as a nursery.  I don’t know which one to give up.”  
  
“I’d assumed we would convert the guest bedroom.”  
  
Laura ran a tongue along her lips, thoroughly distracting him.  It took his brain a second or two to catch   
up with her words.  “-- like having a place for Kate and Murphy when they come down from Colorado,   
and we need a place for your punching bag and my bicycle.”  
  
He stepped behind her so that he could rest his chin against her head and see the rooms from her   
perspective.  Yes, they definitely needed a place to work out.  Frequently overhearing her muttered   
insults toward the exercise bike while he boxed told him how much she still resented not being allowed to  
run yet.  He’d once offered her privacy so she could swear to her heart’s content, but she’d snapped   
back in sharp tones that watching him was infinitely preferable to being stuck in a room alone, even with   
the television for diversion.  They’d had some stellar arguments any number of times while exercising   
over the merits of biking versus running.  
  
Damn, he’d lost track of the conversation and forced himself to listen again.  “I hadn’t thought about the   
fact that children aren’t very suited to living here,” she was saying.  
  
Remington rubbed his neck.  He hadn’t either.  “Are you … ah … do you … ah … want to buy a   
different house?  In the suburbs like your sisters?”  He cringed at the idea.  
  
But she laughed.  “No.  I don’t think either of us is suited for suburban life.  I prefer living in the heart of   
Los Angeles.  I just don’t know how to make it work yet.”  
  
Vastly relieved, he started thinking about the possibilities and idly stroked her ponytail.  “Make a wish,   
Laura.  Close your eyes, and tell me what you would like to have.”    
  
Still bewildered, she did.  “I suppose … a couple of extra bedrooms so that we have room for the baby   
with an option for perhaps another one down the road.”  She opened her eyes and slanted him a wicked   
smile over her shoulder that he returned with delighted joy.  “A play area.  Kate has one for the boys and   
swears by it.  Since Frances is just a wee bit jealous, as you would say, I’ll assume it’s a good idea.    
Another bathroom--so we have one for guests and one for the children.  I’d like to keep our workout   
room.  It’s important that both of us keep fit for what we do.”  She shrugged.  “But that’s all wishful   
thinking.”  
  
Remington pulled a toothpick out of his pocket and nibbled on it.  “What if … what if we bought the   
apartment behind these rooms and expanded?”  
  
Turning so she could see his face, Laura crossed her arms as she did when she was thinking and leaned   
against the doorway.  “I’m listening.”  
  
Gesturing with his toothpick toward the workout room, he said, “The one next door is nearly the same   
size as my old flat--which was something like twelve hundred square feet.  With the space we already   
have, it could be made to work.”  
  
“Are we talking about completely rebuilding this section of the penthouse?”  
  
“Ah, hmm.  Yes.  I suppose so.”  
  
Laura flashed him a smile.  “Murphy’s going to give you hell.  I can hear it now: ‘Your wife is pregnant   
and you decide--not to tear out a few tiles--but to rearrange half the house.’ ”  
  
“Yes, but I’m not tearing out our bloody kitchen,” he countered.  
  
She shrugged and laughed.  “Won’t matter to Murphy.  Go on then.  Charm the neighbors into selling,   
and we’ll do it.”    
  
“Just like that?”  
  
“It will work.  Do you think we can have it done by Thanksgiving so we have time to outfit the nursery?”  
  
Remington did a quick calculation, figuring in time to boot the neighbors out, have an architect draw up   
plans, get permits and build out the space.  It would be close.  Very close.  “Five months.  Of course,” he   
assured her with a grin.  
  
She bit her lip.  “Oh, Rei.  I’ve seen that look before.  What Katy put Murphy through will be nothing if I   
still have contractors stomping through the house in December.”  She narrowed her eyes and tapped her   
fingers on her elbow.  
  
He gave her a little hug and dropped a kiss on her temple.  “It will all be fine.  You’ll see.  And I know   
just the crew that can do it.”  
  
“Your security team?”  She said it only half in jest.  
  
“Among others.  I know some people.”  
  
Laura only shook her head.  “You always do.”

 

 


	3. Interlude

_Dressed as a janitor, Buchanan mopped the floor of the Nassau terminal in the Bahamas and kept a_ _careful eye on Johnny Carlisle.  A quick glance confirmed that the other five agents were in place._ _Carlisle paced back and forth in front of the jetway, much as he had for the past eighteen hours._  
  
_The Interpol agent had found him yesterday but had quickly realized that he was waiting for someone_ _or something.  Interpol had wanted to know whom or what before arresting him._  
  
_A sudden flurry of movement caught Buchanan’s eye.  An airport attendant gave Carlisle a message,_ _and he swiftly walked to a nearby gate where a small plane could be seen through the window._  
  
_“Got a bead on that plane?” Buchanan asked over his hidden microphone as he mopped his way over_ _to the glass._  
  
_“It’s a private jet out of Ireland.  We’re checking into the ownership and flight plan now.”_  
  
_“Good.  Doors are opening.  Two men, late thirties … armed … and a young girl … mid-teens, long_ _brown hair … could be O’Callaghan’s daughter.  Men are escorting the girl to the jetway.  Carlisle is_ _watching her.  Here we go … remember your orders, gentlemen.”_  
  
_The moment the girl stepped into the terminal, Johnny took her into his arms--and Interpol stepped in_ _to disarm the bodyguards and arrest Johnny Carlisle of the Dublin Six.  Buchanan kept an eye on the_ _exhausted, terrified girl as she solemnly watched the agents handcuff her father.  Her escorts were_ _detained, and she was temporarily placed in Interpol’s custody._

 _Two days later, as Johnny accepted that he would spend the rest of his life in prison, he ordered Buchanan to take Siobhán to his cousin._  
  
_“Which one?”  Once a blood test had determined that Carlisle, not O’Callaghan, was likely the girl’s father, Buchanan had ordered a list of family members in Ireland to be vetted as possible foster parents.  Not a stellar crew, by any means, and most were downright unsuitable._  
  
_“Got one in LA.  Good chap, fellow that goes by the name ‘Remington Steele.’ ”_  
  
_Buchanan sighed as he left the interview.  It seemed he was going to have to have a long talk with Steele.  But first, he had to go through the American authorities.  He called his secretary.  “Get me Roselli on the line again.  We’ve got a little unfinished business.”_  



	4. Siobhán (Shi-VAHN)

_Siobhán, me darling, I cannot do right by you now.  But I can make sure you have the best life anyway--  
maybe a better one than I could give you.  Go live with Steele.  Ciarán’s a good man, and you can trust in   
him.  Erin would want this.  I’ve told him to adopt you.  You need parents, me darling.  
  
What if he doesn’t want me, Johnny?  
  
He will.  He won’t be able to deny you.  
  
  
_*****  
  
  
 _Wednesday, 8 June 1988 -- 11 weeks, 6 days  
  
_ Laura dropped her fedora on her desk and ran her hand through her hair, enjoying her fantastic mood.  The   
beautiful weather that day, sunny and in the seventies, called for singing a little ditty as she cruised into the   
agency.  She’d been successful in tracking down a stolen pair of candlesticks.  It seemed that two elderly sisters   
had been fighting over who inherited them from their mother.  A crooked appraiser had made off with them in   
the meantime.  
  
A visit from her and Kaleb had the man shaking in his shoes as he handed over the stolen property.  The tip   
she’d left LAPD had made both detective agencies happy.  She’d refused to take a bet from her associate as to   
whether other stolen items were in the crook’s possession, but she did advise the police to move quickly.  They   
did.  They loved “anonymous tips” that gave them all kinds of leeway in their own investigations.  
  
The fact that Remington Steele Investigations cooperated and assisted the LAPD whenever possible gave them   
an excellent reputation within the department.  Any number of times in the past few years they’d been able to   
ask for assistance and receive it with alacrity.  In return, the private investigators cheerily turned over   
perpetrators with a regularity that made the police commissioner a happy man.  
  
*****  
  
Remington heard her moving about in her office while he spoke with the architect via telephone.  Pleased with   
the progress he had made that morning with the residents of the bordering apartment, he had contacted the   
same man who had designed their office two years ago.  
  
They met in the short corridor, both beaming with good news.  Remington raised a brow.  “You must have   
closed a case.  It’s the only thing that puts that predatory gleam in your eye.”  
  
Laura laughed.  “Closed it and then shot a nail in his coffin when the police raided his house an hour later.    
Everybody except the perp went home happy.  How about you?”  
  
“Well … it seems that the couple living on the other side of our bedrooms were thinking of retiring to Carmel-  
by-the-Sea and are quite pleased with the offer I made on their place this morning.  I did a good bit of research   
and gave them a few quid over the going rate as an enticement.  Plus, I threw in a bonus if they would be out in   
thirty days.”  He was rather pleased with himself and wiggled his brows.  
  
“And they agreed?”  
  
He nodded.  “They’re going shopping for a house near the beach this weekend.  The architect will have some   
preliminary plans for us in a few days.  By mid-July, we can close on the apartment and begin construction.”  
  
“You work fast, Mr. Steele.”  She drew a finger down his tie and tapped twice over his heart.  
  
He lifted her hand and dropped a kiss onto the palm.  “Only when I’m properly motivated.”  His breath on her   
hand made her toes curl.  
  
Laura laughed again in delight.  In the quiet hallway between their offices, she closed her fingers over   
Remington’s hand.  “How is this possible?”  
  
“How is what possible?”  The light in her eyes had his heart thumping.  
  
“No one deserves to be as happy as I am, Mr. Steele.”  Her face had a smile dancing across it, and her self-  
possession radiated much as it had the first time he’d walked into her office.  Only now it was … more.  So   
much more.  
  
Before Remington’s glib tongue could frame a reply, Ian called her name, “Mrs. Steele?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
Ian stepped into her office before finding her in the hallway with Remington, his expression contrite.  “Ah,   
sorry to interrupt.  There are, uh, gentleman, uh, from Interpol, uh, to see you.”  The normally unflappable   
young man still had jangled nerves after the unexpected visit they’d had last week.  Laura exchanged a long   
look with Remington before they followed Ian to the reception area.  
  
James Buchanan and Tony Roselli waited in the outer office.  
  
  
  
  
Buchanan immediately noted the resemblance between Carlisle and Steele that had escaped him before.  He   
smiled grimly.  “Steele.  Mrs. Steele.  May we have a moment of your time?  In private, please?”  
  
He didn’t miss Ms. Krebs popping into the room.  With her hands on her hips, she arched brows at him and   
glared at Roselli before disappearing into Mrs. Steele’s office.  
  
The agents took the seats Steele indicated, across from Mrs. Steele, who had taken the executive chair behind   
the desk.  Steele sat on the corner facing both men.  “Can’t say I’m pleased to see either of you, but in any   
case, what can we do for you?” Steele offered while pleasantly glaring at Roselli.  
  
Buchanan idly wondered what his American compatriot had done to irritate the detectives.  Aiming to express   
sincerity and concern, he hunched forward and clasped his hands.  He’d rather not have this conversation.  In   
the short time he’d worked with the Steeles overseas, he’d developed respect for them--not only as professional   
private investigators--but as a couple who cared for each other.  The Ireland incident had demanded a great   
deal from both of them; he wondered how well they had their bearings.  
  
However, the conversation with Roselli on the way to the agency seemed to indicate the couple had recovered   
admirably--just in time for him to drop yet another bombshell into their laps.  
  
Beyond that, he had to know more about their association with Carlisle.  Roselli had given him his report last   
night.  Buchanan had skimmed it, noting that it seemed to correspond with Carlisle’s own statements, but the   
interview would have to be done.  Sometimes he hated his job.  
  
Looking Steele straight in the eye, he said, “We caught up with Carlisle a couple of days ago in Nassau.  Agent   
Roselli has briefed me on the conversation you three had.”  Leaning back in the chair, he commented, “Steele,   
I don’t like your connections.  You’ve got one or two that seem to be rather convenient, and I can’t help being   
suspicious of it all.  But all of that is neither here nor there at the moment.  We’ve come to deliver a request.  A   
rather hefty one.”  
  
“And what might that be?” Laura asked.  
  
“Agent Roselli told me about your conversation with Johnny Carlisle.  And Carlisle himself confirmed that you,  
Mr. Steele, are a relative of his.  He also corroborated your statement that he only asked your assistance in   
getting Interpol to drop the investigation--to which you declined.  On a personal note, I have to state that I’m   
impressed.  Not many men have the courage to deny Carlisle.”  
  
“Perhaps that is the distant relation part,” Steele admitted, breathing an inward sigh of relief that Carlisle hadn’t   
rolled over on him.  “Go on.”  
  
“Carlisle has a fifteen-year-old daughter.  She wasn’t kidnapped as you originally speculated.  As much as we   
can determine by blood tests at this point, we have ruled out the possibility that Denis O’Callaghan is Siobhán’s   
father, and it appears--from documentation that Siobhán carried with her in the form of a letter her mother had   
written before she died--that she is, in fact, Carlisle’s.  He freely admits to having an affair with Erin--one that   
eventually led to her death and set into motion the events of the recent past.”  
  
Steele crossed his arms and Buchanan stifled his desire to swallow hard.  Knowing none of this would be easy   
for the couple, he still had to make the formal request.  “Carlisle knows he’ll be locked up for the rest of his   
life.  No attorney in the world can evade all the charges we’ve got him on.  As Siobhán’s only living parent, he   
can request guardianship for his daughter--provided that the courts approve.”  
  
Glancing from Steele to Laura and back again, he finished.  “Carlisle wants you two to be Siobhán’s guardians.    
He doesn’t want her going back to Ireland.  Not only does he have reservations about his remaining relatives in   
Ireland, he fears that someone may use her for retaliation if she stays there.”  Buchanan leaned back in his   
chair.  “On that I have to agree with him, and there’s more.  Carlisle has signed paperwork allowing you to   
formally adopt Siobhán if that is what you would prefer.  He knows the chances of seeing her are practically nil   
anyway.  Any contact she might have would be up to you until she comes of age.”  
  
Laura blinked but didn’t change her expression.  From beside her, Remington only glowered at Buchanan.    
“What happens if we don’t take her?”  
  
“If we don’t place her with another relative--which is probable given the background checks we’ve done so far--  
she becomes a ward of Ireland.  At her age, she won’t be adopted.  She’ll likely be placed in a group home until   
she’s eighteen.  What happens after that will depend on her.  I will tell you that all of Carlisle’s assets have been   
confiscated until the courts determine which ones, if any, were legitimately obtained.”  
  
Steele ran his fingers through his hair.  “So she’s left without a home, without money--and her fate lies with a   
pair of strangers.”  
  
“Essentially, yes,” Buchanan admitted.  “Carlisle has engaged a solicitor and paid him a great deal of money   
already to look after her interests, but it will be a while before any decisions will be made.”  He watched the   
Steeles take in his request.  Laura’s face seemed a shade paler, but it might have been the light.  Otherwise, she   
only kept a steady gaze on his face.  Damn, he would have liked to have had her as an operative.  She never   
flinched or gave away the game.    
  
Steele, on the other hand, might have been carved from ice.  Buchanan wasn’t sure if the lack of emotion was   
fury or insult and didn’t know what to make of it.  Quite frankly, he couldn’t blame them if they flat out   
refused.  Married, no children, a thriving business that they both enjoyed and a penthouse in the city--they   
weren’t set up for this.  
  
When the silence stretched too long, Laura asked, “What kind of life is she used to having?”  
  
Buchanan felt hope rise from somewhere in his shoes.  He’d forgotten that the Steeles could be   
compassionate.  It wasn’t an emotion he encountered often in his line of work.  “She’s lived on Carlisle’s   
compound outside of Dublin since she was five.  From what I understand, she’s been tutored at home and is   
rarely allowed off the property in spite of the fact that Carlisle spent a great deal of time in London.”  
  
Steele shot Roselli another dirty look.  “So why are you here?”  
  
Tony kept his voice level and low as if not to antagonize the detective further.  “You’ll need my help to   
expedite either guardianship or adoption since this is an international situation.  Because of your reputation and   
the fact that you are technically still an Irish citizen, the Irish government is willing to make some concessions   
to the process if we assist.”  
  
Remington shifted his gaze to James.  “You ask a great deal, Buchanan.  More than you know at this moment.”  
  
“I’m only the messenger on this one.  I understand there’s not been much contact between you and Carlisle, so   
this is rather out of the blue.”  
  
He turned to the other agent.  “Roselli, let’s give the Steeles a chance to talk.  We’ll be out there.”  He waved   
to the reception area as he and Tony stood.  “Take your time.”  
  
Laura rose.  Buchanan noted this time that she’d gained weight since he’d seen her last.  She was still slender,   
but there was a subtle fullness to her now.  
  
“Hold on--where is Siobhán now?” she asked.  
  
“We have her in a safe house in the city,” Buchanan answered.  
  
“Does she understand what is happening?”  
  
James nodded.  “She keeps her mouth shut, watches everything and asks for nothing.  I’d say she understands   
exactly what is going on and has no idea what to do or whom to trust.  Given the time I’ve been around her, I’d   
say she's a good kid and scared out of her wits.”  
  
He and Tony walked out of the office, leaving the Steeles to digest this new turn of events.  Ian offered them   
coffee and a place to sit in the break room, well away from Mildred’s glower.  Buchanan chose to pace while   
Roselli crossed his arms and sprawled in one of the chairs scattered around the table.  
  
“Did you read the report I gave you?” Tony asked.  
  
“Skimmed it.  Focused on the part about Carlisle,” Buchanan admitted.  
  
“Then you didn’t read the end of it.”  
  
“No, not yet.”  
  
“She’s pregnant,” Tony said.  
  
Surprised, James turned around.  “Laura?  She can’t be very far along.  She’s not showing--or not much   
anyway.”  
  
Roselli shrugged.  “Don’t know about that.  But they told me in our meeting.  Steele was rather smug about it.”  
  
“You don’t like him.”  
  
“No.  He’s too slick for my taste.  Guys like him make me nervous.”  
  
Buchanan nodded.  “He does that.  I haven’t had an agent on him yet that he couldn’t shake.  One of our best   
agents tracked him for years and never busted him.  We can’t touch him now, but it seems to be for a good   
cause.  I’d rather have a thief on the loose than the Dublin Six any day of the week.  Wonder what they’re   
going to do.”  
  
“I don’t know.  Laura’s not exactly a pushover.  She’s gonna have a fair amount to say about this.”  
  
Buchanan stroked his chin thoughtfully before drinking his coffee again.  
  
  
  
  
Laura rose from the chair to perch on the desk beside Remington, taking care to conceal her own   
apprehensions as she laced her fingers to rest on her belly that only recently had started to curve.  She wasn’t   
even a mother yet.  A teen?  How was she supposed to manage a newborn and a fifteen-year-old girl?     
  
She didn’t verbalize any of those thoughts though.  Instead, she asked, “What do you want to do?”  
  
He chewed on his thumbnail.  “I want to pretend this conversation never happened.  Damned buggering   
bastard.  He asked me, Laura.  He asked me here in this office to protect Siobhán and I told him ‘no.’  I told   
him I wouldn’t risk my family for his.  Now I don’t have a choice,” he said bitterly.  
  
“No, we don’t,” she agreed.  No matter what misgivings she had, and at the moment she had plenty, Laura had   
no doubt that turning away this child, this young cousin of his, would devastate her husband.  
  
“I can’t ask you to do this, Laura,” he pleaded, hoping she would use her brilliant mind to find them a way out   
of this enormous responsibility.  
  
But she didn’t offer one.  “If she were any of my sisters’ children, I would ask you without a second thought.    
And you would agree without hesitation.”  
  
“Bloody hell, Laura.  What do we know about raising a teenager?”  He rubbed his neck, stepping close so that   
he could enfold her in his arms, needing the comfort of her touch.  
  
“I don’t know.  But it looks as if we’re going to have to learn.”  Laura rested her forehead on his shoulder.  
  
Mildred pushed the connecting door open.  “I’ll help.”  
  
They turned to look at her, not realizing she’d overheard the conversation.  “How?” asked Laura.  
  
She shrugged.  “Don’t know.  Might be nothing more than a ride home from school.  But consider me an   
honorary grandma, and you can ask for whatever you need.”  
  
“School?” Remington echoed before looking down at Laura again.  “Just what are we getting ourselves into?”  
  
“Apparently a great deal, Mr. Steele.”  
  
He stalked away muttering curses under his breath before sitting hard on the couch and placing his face in his   
hands.  “No.  I can’t do this.  Laura--we’re not even ready for our own child.  She needs parents who know   
how to handle children.”  
  
Mildred spoke up, “You heard Buchanan.  She’s not going to get them.  It’s either you two or a group home.    
And it’s pretty certain she won’t have a family to turn to.  Is that what you want, Boss?”  
  
Laura kept still as she accepted that their lives were about to be turned upside down.  Again.  She   
unconsciously fiddled with her nails, betraying her nerves, and wondered exactly how they would make this   
work with the baby on the way.  Remington looked at her hands and then found his own fears reflected in her   
face.  
  
But before he could say anything, she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders before meeting his eyes.    
“What did you want when you were fifteen, Remington?”  
  
“Some place safe,” he automatically answered.  “All I wanted was a place to call home.  Even Daniel couldn’t   
give me that.”  
  
“Then we owe her that much at least.”  
  
Remington slowly nodded.  “Laura, if she stays, if she’ll let us, I want to adopt.  She’ll know who her parents   
are.”  
  
Mildred cocked her head at her “son.” “You haven’t even met her, Boss.”  
  
“I haven’t met my son or daughter either, but it doesn’t change the fact that I already care a great deal.  She’s   
my cousin.  We apparently are all she has.”  
  
Laura realized that Remington was too emotional to make any sort of logical judgment here.  It was possible   
Siobhán would despise all of them and prefer to go home, whatever home might be for her now.  But she     
didn’t say that--and hoped she was wrong.  
  
  
  
  
Steele pushed open the door to the break room, allowing Laura to enter before him.  Roselli stood and James   
set down his coffee, narrowing his eyes as he tried to read the couple’s intentions.  But Laura simply clasped   
her hands in front of her body, and Steele rested his hand lightly on her back.  The tension grew thick as the   
couple assessed the two agents with icy composure.  
  
At last Steele offered, “Bring her to our house this evening.  I’m sure you can figure out where we live.”  
  
After they left the room, Buchanan let out a relieved breath and knocked back the rest of his coffee, wishing it   
was laced with something a great deal stronger than cream.

 

 


	5. Decisions

_Wednesday evening, 8 June 1988 -- 11 weeks, 6 days  
  
_ Siobhán concentrated on breathing and walking confidently as her governess had taught her, doing her   
best not to stumble in her weariness.  Her itchy eyes reminded her that she’d hardly slept in the last two   
days, unable to rest as she wondered what would happen to her.  
  
She glanced up at the building they walked toward and took in the noisy cars and the little bar down the   
way.  Since Housekeeper had awoken her--maybe three, four days ago--she’d seen more of the world   
and heard more amazing accents and languages than in her previous fifteen years.    
  
She stuffed her hands into her jacket to conceal her nervousness as she, Mr. Buchanan and Mr. Roselli   
rode the elevator.  Mr. Roselli told her that the Steeles lived in an apartment on the top floor.  Visions of   
a tiny, cramped flat sprang to mind, and she wondered how they’d make room for her.  Maybe they   
would send her to boarding school instead.  Having spent most of her life around adults, she was   
frightened by the thought.  
  
Mr. Buchanan had been nice to her, but she could tell he was ready to pass her off to someone else.  The   
Interpol agent had told her that her dad was going to be in jail for a long time.  Johnny had told her to   
stay with the Steeles and that Mr. Steele was her cousin.  She hoped he was nice.  
  
When the elevator opened to a glass and wood foyer, at least that fear was allayed.  A woman with long,   
dark reddish-brown hair and freckles scattered over her face was waiting.  She didn’t seem too much   
older than Siobhán--this must be her cousin’s wife.  A blonde woman, older and a little on the round side   
with a big smile, stood next to her.  She wondered if this was her new governess.  
  
“Hello, Siobhán.  I’m Laura Steele.  This is Mildred Krebs.  She’s a very good friend of ours and wanted   
to meet you.  Come.  Your cousin is in the living room, and he’s quite nervous about meeting you.  He’s   
afraid he won’t make a good impression.”  Laura smiled, as if to reassure her, and led her through the   
foyer to where a man waited in the living room.  
  
Siobhán skimmed a quick look over the penthouse, noting the piano in the living room with surprise, the   
pretty décor and the lights of the city outside the window.  She turned to take her first good look at her   
cousin.  For a moment, she knew she stared rudely, for the resemblance between her cousin and Johnny   
was incredible.  “You … my dad.”  Tears started and she blinked them back.  “You look like my dad.    
Only … darker--dark hair, deeper blue eyes.  That’s why he calls you ‘Ciarán.’ ”  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Remington froze in place for a heartbeat and then a lifetime of training kicked in.  Much more cynical   
hearts than Siobhán’s had fallen for his charm and at an innocent fifteen, she had no defense for that sort   
of thing.  Deliberately, he let the Irish touch his voice.  “Far be it for me to cross your father, Siobhán.”    
He touched her shoulder.  “I’m only here to help.”  
  
The touch of home in his words must have taken apart what fragile restraint she had.  The teen threw   
herself into his arms and sobbed copiously onto his shoulder.  
  
His eyes sought out Laura as he held the slight young girl.  She directed the two agents to take their seats   
in the living room and returned with a pair of tissues.  
  
“Siobhán?”  
  
The girl looked up and gratefully took them from her.  “Thank you.”  She glanced at Remington and   
blinked several times to regain her composure.  “My … my apologies for … for getting your shirt wet.”  
  
He smiled down at her.  “It’s not the first time that has happened.  Better?”  She nodded as she pressed   
the tissue to her face.  “Then would you like some tea?  I’ve water hot already.”  She nodded again.    
“Then go with Laura and I’ll bring you a cup.”  
  
She nodded a third time and let Laura lead her to the living room where they sat side-by-side on the sofa.  
  
Mildred sat on a chair between them and the agents, giving the teen a thorough, if discreet, perusal.  The   
resemblance between the girl and Mr. Steele was uncanny.  Already taller than Laura, the slim teen had   
high cheekbones, full lips and winged brows.  The strong jaw line he carried was softened in hers.  But   
whereas he had dark hair wavering between the deepest of browns and blacks, hers was light brown--  
lighter than Laura’s auburn--with eyes that could only be described as the clearest of grays--nearly silver.  
  
Mildred saw Tony and Buchanan exchange a quick glance as they too noted the resemblance.  
  
When Remington returned with tea, he sat on Siobhán’s other side.  He saw the exchange between the   
men  and wondered what it implied.   He ordered, “Now, gentlemen, where do go from here.  Let’s get   
this business settled so that Siobhán has the answers she needs.”  
  
With eyes wide again, the teen sipped from her cup.  
  
Laura turned to the girl.  “Do you understand what is happening here?”  
  
Siobhán nodded and in a soft voice offered, “Johnny’s in a lot of trouble.  He’s done some things he   
shouldn’t have and he’ll be in jail for a very long time.  I … need guardians since he can’t be here.  Mr.   
Buchanan explained it all to me.”  
  
Laura nodded.  “Johnny has asked us to be your guardians.  He’s even given us the option of legally   
adopting you so that we can be your parents in every way.”  She touched the teen’s hand.  “We are quite   
willing to do that, but we want to know what you want to do.  You won’t be able to go home again   
because of Johnny’s problems.  Everything he owns is now in the hands of a judge until they determine   
what he owns legally and what was obtained illegally.  Once they make that determination, then you   
might have some other options--but it will take years, Siobhán.”  
  
The girl looked away, blinking back tears before nodding in understanding.     
  
Taking care to demonstrate his concern, Remington asked, “Do you have someone you are especially   
close to in Ireland?  We want to give you a home here, but we don’t want to take you away from   
someone you love.”  
  
Siobhán shrugged.  “No.  I like my governess, but she hates living at Johnny’s.  She was planning to   
leave in the next few weeks anyway.  She found a job with a family in Dublin.  And Housekeeper has   
her own family.”  
  
“Do you think you can handle living here with us?”  Remington carefully watched her expression as he   
indicated the apartment.  “It’s a bit smaller than Johnny’s place.”  He retained vague memories of the   
enormous house Carlisle kept and they came to mind as he spoke.     
  
Surprised, the girl looked up at him.  “I’d live with you?  Not at boarding school?”  
  
Laura only chuckled.  “Boarding schools aren’t very common in the United States, Siobhán.  We’ll find a   
good school here in the city and you’ll be with us.  
  
Siobhán sipped her tea and nodded again.  Very softly, she said to them, “I’ll stay if you don’t mind.    
Johnny told me I should, and I … I don’t really have anywhere to go.”  She dropped her head to stare   
into her cup.  
  
Laura met Remington’s look over the girl’s head.  By the set of his jaw, she could see the determination   
in his face.  Giving in to the inevitable, she laid a hand on Siobhán’s again.  “Would you like to see your   
room?”  
  
Siobhán nodded, and Laura led her down the hallway, motioning Mildred to come with them.  
  
Laura picked up Siobhán's small suitcase and carried it into the guest bedroom.  Trying for a light tone,   
she began, “This furniture came from the loft apartment I had before I married your cousin.  If you don’t   
care for it, we can change it.”  She glanced at the little case.  “We can go shopping tomorrow and get   
whatever you need.  Mildred, would you like to go with us?”  
  
Mildred raised her brows and sat on the edge of the bed.  “Of course.  Sounds like a lot of fun.  Who   
doesn’t like shopping for clothes and shoes?”  
  
Siobhán looked up and shrugged helplessly.  “I don’t know.  Johnny wouldn’t let me go anywhere.”  
  
“Nowhere at all?” Mildred asked.  She patted the bed, encouraging the girl to sit next to her.  
  
Siobhan shook her head as she sat.  “The only time I went anywhere was if he escorted me … and he   
spent most of his time in London.  My governesses would bring me whatever I needed.”  
  
Mildred touched the teen's cheek.  “It’s going to be different here, kiddo.”  
  
Confused, Siobhán asked, “Are you … my governess?”  
  
Both of the women laughed good-naturedly and Mildred answered her with a smile.  “Technically, I   
work for the Steeles at their office, but I’ve been around for a long time and I consider both of them my   
‘kids.’  If anything, I stand in for your cousin’s mom.  He’s crushed when I scold him.”  She said this   
with a gleam in her eye.  In full-on “Mom” mode, Mildred suggested, “Laura, why don’t you tell her   
about yourself.”  
  
As she sat on the other side of Siobhán, Laura nodded.  “I have two sisters, both married, and my   
mother, Abigail.  My mother, my sister Frances and her husband Donald live not too far from here.    
They have three children--two girls and a boy.  The oldest, Danny, is just a little younger than you.  My   
twin sister Kathleen and her husband Murphy have eighteen-month-old twin boys.  They live in Denver,   
Colorado.”  
  
The teen’s lips parted in surprise.  “You have a whole family?”  
  
Chuckling, Laura said, “That’s about your cousin’s reaction to all of them too.”  She eyed the girl again.    
“Are you hungry?”  
  
“No.  Mr. Buchanan took me to dinner before we came.  But …” she trailed off and shook her head.  
  
“But what?” Laura asked.  
  
Overwhelmed by the past few days, Siobhán covered her face and began to sob silent tears.  
  
Laura gathered her close while stroking her hair.  “It’s going to be okay.  You’re safe.”  Her own heart   
wrenched open, making room for the frightened young girl.  She had no idea how they would make   
things work, but it would take a harder heart than Laura’s to refuse to help.  
  
Eventually, the two women encouraged Siobhán to lie down and rest.  In moments, she slept, betraying   
her exhaustion.  Laura twitched the covers over her one last time and left the door open a few inches as   
they returned to the living room.  
  
Remington rose to his feet.  “Siobhán?”  
  
“She’s sleeping,” Laura replied, taking his outstretched hand.  Turning her attention to the two men, she   
asked, “Where do we stand?”  
  
Tony nodded.  “We’ll give Siobhán a few days to adjust; then I’ll come back.  That will give you a   
chance to discuss guardianship versus adoption with her.  If … if it isn’t working at all, we can make   
other arrangements at that time.”  
  
Remington’s eyes cooled again, but he didn’t say anything.  As Laura had walked his cousin to the   
bedroom, he realized that he hadn’t given his wife much say in the situation.  Over dinner earlier, they’d   
had a long discussion that didn’t really include the idea of not making a home for his cousin.  He intended  
to have an honest talk with her tonight, but she surprised him in her next move.  
  
“I don’t think that will be necessary, Tony.  For her sake, as well as ours, I hope that we can convince   
her to let us adopt.  It will make explanations easier.”  
  
“Yes,” Tony agreed.  “It’s going to be hard on you, Laura.”  
  
She nodded.  “I know.  But we’ve dealt with the press before and we’ll do it again.  I can handle it.”  
  
Remington looked at both of them in confusion.  “The press?  What are you two talking about?”  
  
Tony crossed his arms, apparently enjoying the chance to needle him.  “Siobhán is Irish and fifteen.  No   
one will believe that Laura is her mother.  But we can pass her off as yours, Steele.  Since you just came   
back from Ireland, we can easily manufacture a background and a story as to why she hasn’t lived with   
you until now.  It’s the best way to protect her.”  
  
Irritated at the implications, Remington retorted, “I would never abandon a child of mine, Roselli.  I will   
not have it put about that I didn’t care for my own daughter.”  
  
Tony leaned against the arm of the couch, nodding.  “Oddly enough, Steele, I get that.  Which is why    
we’ll make it clear you’ve been providing for her all along and this was the opportune time to bring her   
home.  It will cast Laura in a more sympathetic light as well if it’s made clear she’s known the situation   
and has been protecting both of you.  Quite frankly, Siobhán looks enough like you that no one will   
believe she’s not your daughter--so we don’t have many choices.”  
  
Not for the first time in the past few weeks, Remington resented having the limelight shining on him.    
The very role he’d perfected was now a stifling one.  He could see how bringing home a nearly grown   
daughter at the same time Laura’s pregnancy became obvious could cast a shadow over his reliability and   
hence, the agency's.  Irritated by the whole scenario, his accent was clipped.  “Thank you, gentlemen.  I   
believe the rest of this is up to the three of us to determine how we proceed.”  
  
Buchanan dropped a sheaf of papers on the coffee table.  “I’ll need you to sign this to give you   
temporary custody.  It will go to the Irish government.  Carlisle’s already put his name on it.”  He handed   
them a pen.  “We need something permanent in the next few days--either you need to go public or we   
need to find a different way to hide her.  Right now our best asset is the fact that few people know her   
name, and fewer still know that she’s Carlisle’s daughter.  The faster we build a different story for her,   
the harder it will be for someone to track her down.  We’ve kept any mention of her out of the Bahama   
papers so if we’re lucky, no one will know she came this way.”  
  
The Steeles nodded and signed the forms.  
  
When they were done, Laura rose and began pacing.  “Now that we have that settled--James, Tony,      
we’re going to have a little talk.”  
  
Roselli quipped, “Is this the kind where I need a bottle of beer?”  
  
“It’s the kind that will get you one broken over your head if I ever find bugs in my agency again.”  She   
turned her attention to Buchanan.  “I’m amending what we’ve agreed on so far.  First, we’re not taking   
any trainees under the present circumstances.  Siobhán needs our attention for a while and neither Mr.   
Steele nor I can afford the distraction of a new intern whom neither of us can trust.  
  
“Second, your interns will not have any access to the security side of our business.  I’m not handing   
Interpol the blueprints to our agency or our home.  Mr. Steele informed me that you’ve been attempting   
to break into his systems.  I won’t have it, Buchanan.  If you want our expertise for your new agents,   
you’re going to have to start by trusting us.  Right now, I have every reason to believe that the only   
reason you want an intern here is to spy on Mr. Steele.  
  
“I won’t have it,” she repeated.  “Our agency is on sound financial footing and while bringing a trainee up  
to speed could be fun, we don’t need either the money or the headache.”  
  
Roselli and Buchanan exchanged opaque glances.  
  
Buchanan leaned forward again.  “Can I have that beer?”  He wasn’t exactly blindsided by this   
conversation, but it was one he’d hoped to avoid.  Since the meeting with Carlisle, he’d worried that the   
situation with Siobhán would cause problems with the agreement he and Mrs. Steele had worked out.    
Discovering she was pregnant added a whole new layer of complexity, and he began to worry that the   
whole training program he’d carefully nursed through Interpol protocol would fall apart.  If she was   
anything like his wife when she was carrying, she was prone to overreacting to what she perceived as   
personal attacks.  
  
Mildred spoke up again.  “I’ll get 'em.”  
  
No one spoke until she returned with a bottle for each of the agents.  Laura sat on the arm of the sofa   
near Remington--guarding him as it were.  
  
Remington wasn’t surprised at Laura’s tirade.  She’d fumed over it a time or two since last Friday and    
he’d seen the irritation building in her throughout the day.  She’d played bad cop; now it was time for   
him to step in and play the good one.  
  
“Now, Laura, we’ve talked about this.  I’m certain it’s standard procedure.  And you must admit my   
background isn’t exactly stellar.”  His voice was soothing as he took her hand.  
  
She narrowed her eyes and followed along.  “Your background is exactly why they want you.  The effort   
of this agency is part of the reason why the Dublin Six is going down like a house of cards.  I’d expect   
that they would appreciate us more instead of treating us like suspects.”  
  
Buchanan interrupted in an attempt to gain control of the conversation.  “You’re not suspects.  You’re   
right, Steele; it is standard procedure.  This is an unusual opportunity for both of us and quite frankly, the   
higher ups want to know as much as possible.  What can I say?  We’re Interpol.  It’s our job to find   
information.”  
  
As if to confirm his earlier thought, Laura shot back, “Who is doing whom the favor here?  I’ll be happy   
to drop the deal here and now.”  
  
Remington laid a hand on her knee.  “Laura, love, we do owe them.”  
  
Fuming, she crossed her arms.  “Owe them?  I think they owe us.  No.  Either they play by our rules or   
the deal is off.”  
  
He patted her leg and threw a helpless look to Buchanan, shrugging as if he didn’t know what else to do.  
  
Anxious to keep her happy and the training program intact, Buchanan folded.  “What can we do to   
salvage the situation, Mrs. Steele?”  
  
Flicking a piece of invisible lint off her skirt, she clasped her hands and laid them in her lap.  “No more   
picking at our security.  Full immunity from Interpol’s interference.  If you want our skills, then you’re   
going to have to trust us.  We haven’t built our reputation through being careless or stupid.  If we   
discover an intern spying on us just once, the deal is off and we sever the agreement.”  
  
Buchanan nodded, thinking his boss was going to have a conniption when he discovered the last part.    
  
Laura stood again.  “Get it to me in writing by tomorrow afternoon.  I’m not interested in waiting around   
while you change your mind.  And I’m serious about the security part.  We will not disclose proprietary   
secrets.”  
  
“Yes, ma’am.”  
  
“Excuse me, gentlemen.  I need a minute.”  Laura stalked out of the room in apparent irritation.  In   
reality, she needed the restroom and danced a little wiggle of glee when she closed the door.  Leaning   
against it, she appreciated again why she and Mr. Steele made such a fabulous team.  He’d neatly   
countered her arguments in such a way to ensure that Buchanan was alarmed she would call a halt to the   
whole program.  
  
While Laura privately celebrated her victory, Mildred took the opportunity to say her goodbyes,   
reminding Mr. Steele that she would be by tomorrow to go shopping with Laura and Siobhán.  He   
escorted her to the door and kissed her on the cheek.  The twinkle in her eye when she patted him on the   
side of his face told him she’d seen exactly how they’d double-teamed the Interpol agent.  
  
When Laura returned, Buchanan and Roselli rose to depart as well.  
  
  
  
In the elevator, Roselli smirked as he leaned against the wall. “I didn’t think you’d fall for the good   
cop/bad cop routine so easily.  Been out of the field for a while?”  
  
For any kind of spy, the last remark was a biting insult and Buchanan bristled, even as he replayed the   
conversation in his head.  “Bloody hell.  I did fall for it.  I thought she was overreacting because she’s   
pregnant.  I should have known.  I saw how they worked individually; I should have known they’d be   
even better as a team.”  
  
Tony snorted.  “One thing I’ve learned in the time I’ve known the Steeles is that you have a better   
chance of surprising an honest reaction out of him than you do her--and that’s not saying much.  She   
never says or does anything without knowing exactly what kind of response it’s going to get.  They read   
you like a book with notes in the margins.”  
  
Buchanan looked the other agent up and down.  “You got all that out of one interview and the   
conversation this afternoon?”  
  
Judging it was safe enough to disclose his past association with the Steeles, Roselli admitted, “I’ve known  
them for a couple of years.  I had some trouble with a double-crossing British agent, and I ran into Laura   
in a jungle outside Manzanilla in Mexico.  I set them up to go to London and blackmailed Steele into   
helping me uncover the leak.  He had all the skills I needed and a big problem that needed to be   
resolved.  At the time they weren’t acting much like a team, but they kept me alive.  Steele arranged it so   
that I could get off clean.  By the time I was in a position to fix his problem, he’d already handled it.”  
  
They walked out to Buchanan’s government-issued black car.  “So you owe him.”  
  
“No.  I don’t think so.  I think both of them would be happy if I never darkened their doorstep again.    
See--I had a crush on Laura before I realized what a conniving little sneak she can be.  Steele knew how   
I felt, and we’ve crossed fists over it a time or two.  Now I’m damned grateful she told me to take a   
hike.  I get enough of lies and politics at work.  I don’t need it when I come home.  No--I’d rather have a   
sweet wife that warms my bed, adores me for who I am, and that I can be comfortable with.  I don’t   
need sparks flying at home.  The best way I can repay them is to make sure this damned adoption goes   
through.  Since that’s my job, I’m square with it and them.”  
  
“So what’s your take on them?” James asked curiously as he started the car.  
  
Tony shrugged.  “Strange as it sounds, you can trust them.  They’ve got a fairly soft spot for someone in   
trouble.  You should have seen her infiltrating the Russian embassy in Ireland when she was trying to   
help me.  You would think the Communists would have the tightest security in the world, but she waltzed   
right through it--twice, in fact.  I kind of think Steele has his hands full dealing with her.  And frankly, I   
think it’s funny.  He’s an expert at running a con, and she might be the one person he can’t bamboozle.”  
  
“She would have been a hell of an operative.”  
  
“Yeah, but she’s the kind that probably wouldn’t have a very long life span.  The brilliant ones willing to   
take outrageous risks usually don’t last more than a few years before they catch a stray bullet.  Steele   
thinks a little too much of his own hide to get involved in that kind of situation.”  
  
James didn’t say anything.  He rather thought Roselli’s analysis might be on target.  The other agent had   
good instincts.  He’d known about Tony’s association with the Steeles when he’d requested him.  A   
quick scan of the MI6 database had revealed the Steeles’ dealings with the American agent.  Buchanan   
had wanted someone who would be wary of the couple; Roselli seemed to fit the bill.  In any case, notes   
of this conversation would go into Interpol’s files.  Information.  It was all about information.  And   
eventually, the right kind of information could fill in all sorts of gaps.  
*****  
  
When they were alone in the penthouse, Remington turned to Laura while rubbing the back of his neck.    
“I … ah … my apologies, love.  I realized this evening that I haven’t given you much of an opportunity   
to refuse.  This is a great deal to ask, especially with our own child on the way.”  
  
Laura raised her brows and took a deep breath, her expression light and thoughtful.  “It is.  Care for a   
glass of wine?”  Surprised by her easy manner, he nodded.  She retrieved the bottle he’d opened for   
dinner, pouring him a full goblet and herself an inch or so before carrying the two glasses to the terrace.    
She gave him one when he leaned against the railing and sipped from her own.  “Would you like to hear   
my thoughts?”  
  
He nodded, curious of her assessment of the situation.  He trusted her instincts as much as his own.    
“Yes, of course.”  
  
Pacing a few steps away, Laura reflected on her conversation with Siobhán.  “James is right.  Siobhán is   
terrified.  And very, very lonely.  She doesn’t call Carlisle ‘Dad’ or ‘Father’; she calls him ‘Johnny.’  She   
said she almost never leaves the house unless he personally escorts her somewhere, which I gather isn’t   
often.  And unless she’s a better con artist than you, I think she’s very naïve and would be thrown to the   
lions in a group home.  Boarding school for her would be a disaster.  She’s not like us, Rei.”  Laura   
shook her head.  “She’s probably fine with adults, but other kids her age?  They’ll eat her alive.”  
  
Remington abruptly realized he was completely out of his element here.  He had no idea what it was to   
be a normal teen in Southern California.  “So … what is it you think we should do?”  
  
Laura pursed her lips and shrugged.  “Think you can redesign the apartment next door to include a   
bedroom and bathroom for her, in addition to what we talked about?”  
  
He blinked at her and set the goblet of wine on the table before taking her free hand.  “We’re keeping   
her?”    
  
Laura smiled.  “Well, she’s not a puppy, Mr. Steele.  We’ll let her decide if she wants to stay.  She might   
change her mind after she’s had a decent night of sleep.  And it won’t be easy, you know.”  
  
“No?” he echoed, still amazed by her calm acceptance of the situation.  
  
She laughed and recited, “School, boys, homework, rules, plus we’ll have to work out our schedule so   
that she’s not alone too much after school.  We’ll lose a great deal of our privacy--sex will have to be   
confined to the bedroom--and you’ll be cooking for three, not two.  Thank God she’s not driving; I don’t   
think I could handle that just yet.”  She stopped to enjoy the look of astonishment on his face.  “I lived in   
a house full of girls all the way through college, Rei.  Now if you had brought home a fifteen-year-old   
son, I might have panicked.”  
  
He sagged against the rail and just looked at her.  “Now I might panic.  I hadn’t thought about anything   
beyond giving her a home.”  
  
Laura put her glass down as well and pressed her body to his as she put her arms around his shoulders.    
“And that’s what we’ll do.”  
  
He thought for a long while as he held her on the terrace with city lights flashing across the way.  “He set   
me up, you know.  He didn’t really need my help going under.”  
  
“I know.  Carlisle pulled out every trick he had to work on your emotions.  He had to have known that   
there was only a slim chance of actually getting away with taking Siobhán with him, but if he hadn’t   
come here first, you wouldn’t have considered taking her in.  He must have known he’d be followed.”  
  
“He’s damned savvy.  But why me, Laura?”  
  
She smiled and picked up his wine glass again to hand it to him.  “From his perspective, you’ve built a   
nice little empire of your own out here--and a perfectly legal one in, well, most respects anyway.    
Compared to Siobhán’s other options, apparently you looked pretty good.”  
  
Blinking in astonishment, he quipped, “Now that is a rather frightening thought.  I wonder if he realizes   
how much you have to do with it.”  
  
“Probably not, but I’m used to that by now.  In this case, it’s best that he doesn’t realize it.  Carlisle   
respects money, influence and ability--and little else.  As long as he thinks you have all three, he won’t   
want to cross you.  And since his daughter is now in your care, you have the upper hand.”  
  
Remington sipped his wine before sitting down with it at the table and playing with the stem.  “I don’t   
like passing her off as mine.  Good Lord, I would have been what--nineteen?  Twenty?  I wasn’t even in   
Europe then.”  
  
Laura joined him at the table as he spoke and reached for his fingertips to play with them.  “Logically, it   
would make sense for her to stay with her mother if you two were that age and didn’t marry.”  
  
“Damn it, Laura.  Anyone who knows me well--and there aren’t many, I’ll grant you--will know that   
leaving a child would have been an impossibility for me.”  He pulled his hand away from hers and ran it   
through his hair in frustration.  
  
Leaning back in her chair, Laura crossed her arms and tilted her head to the right.  “Rei, there will be   
those people who will think I’m an idiot for allowing you to bring your daughter to live with us while we’  
re expecting our first.  We can’t let what other people think stop us from doing what is right.”  
  
Unable to muster anything other than a spurious argument, he changed tactics.  “What about your family,   
Laura?” Remington asked with a great deal of concern.  
  
She put a hand to her forehead and scrunched up her eyes as she thought about it.  Finally, she lifted that   
same hand and gestured.  “We’ll tell them the same thing we tell the media--that she’s yours.  If any of   
them are smart enough to ask questions, we’ll be honest but until then, the story will stand.  Mother won’  
t question it, although I’m sure I’ll hear about it.”  Laura sighed.  “I’m not looking forward to that   
discussion … but I doubt Frances and Donald will argue.  Kate might ask, and Murphy is going to give   
you hell.  How much you tell him is up to you.”  
  
Remington rubbed the back of his neck.  “I’d rather not lie to your family, Laura.  It doesn’t seem right   
to keep them in the dark.”  
  
“Rei, my mother is the biggest gossip in Southern California.  If you tell her the truth, it will be in the   
newspapers by the next morning.  Besides, if Siobhán lets us adopt her, we won’t be lying about being   
her parents.  Look at it this way: if you tell everyone that Siobhán is your cousin, the first questions   
people will ask are ‘Who are her parents?’ and ‘Why did you get custody?’  The answers can only lead   
straight back to Carlisle and O’Callaghan, if anyone starts digging.  If you tell everyone that she’s your   
daughter and that her mother passed away recently--and that we went to Ireland to get her three months   
ago--then the only question anyone will have is why we didn’t mention her in all the rounds of interviews   
we did.  But the reasonable answer to that is that you wanted to protect her after having lost her mother   
and the fright of nearly losing her father so soon afterward.”  
  
Admiring her sensibility, his expression lightened.  “Once again I see how you pulled off ‘Remington   
Steele’ in the beginning.”  He’d always appreciated her audacity in pulling off such an enormous   
deception.  
  
She gave him a wry grin.  “Come now; you know it’s all about the initial presentation.  In a few months,   
no one will even think of questioning us.  With our names as Siobhán’s parents and the records sealed, it   
will cut the paper trail short if anyone tries to investigate.  Siobhán will know the truth.  Anyone who   
wants to know more will have to ask one of us or her.  And in ten years none of this will matter, and she   
can be as public as she wants to be about her background.”  
  
“True.”  
  
Deciding she was finished, Laura rose again and leaned out on the terrace, enjoying the night breeze and   
thinking that life with Remington never ceased to be interesting.  
  
He followed, surrounding her with his arms and laying his cheek against her hair, wondering how they   
were going to deal with this too.  It had only been a handful of days since he’d begun to let go of the guilt   
and anger over what he’d done to her and here already, something else appeared out of his past to   
threaten the happiness they’d finally found together.  
  
Two years, he thought.  Was that all they were going to be given?  He knew he didn’t deserve even that,   
but Laura, on the other hand, deserved a lifetime of happiness.  Inadvertently, he squeezed Laura a little   
too hard and she looked over her shoulder in surprise.  
  
“What is it?”  She could see he was upset and turned to brush her fingers through the lock of hair that fell   
over his forehead.  “Remington?”  
  
His jaw clenched and he pressed his lips to her forehead.  “I ask too much of you, Laura.”  Closing his   
eyes, he could only clutch her to him.  
  
He then opened them in surprise when she chuckled, low and long.  Meeting his eyes, she smiled again.    
“Yes, well, it’s not as if I haven’t ever demanded anything of you.  You changed your profession, your   
name and your marital status for me.”  
  
His lips twitched.  “Laura, bringing in a fifteen-year-old cousin that we are going to pass off as my   
daughter doesn’t compare.”  
  
“She’s just an innocent kid caught up in a bad situation, Rei.  Would I have asked for this situation   
yesterday?  No.  Will I turn her away?  Absolutely not.”  
  
“But you’re pregnant, Laura.  I can’t ask this of you.”  
  
“Why not, damn it?”  She shook her head in irritation.  “We said we were ready to start a family.  What   
does it matter if we have a baby or a teen or both?  We know changes have to be made--both at home   
and at the agency.  So what if we have to make them sooner rather than later?”  
  
Remington was utterly astonished at Laura’s attitude.  Letting go of her, he leaned against the railing in   
wonder while he stared at his wife.  Her rock-solid confidence wasn’t a sham.  He could see it in the easy   
way she held herself and the relaxed expression on her face.  Slowly, one corner at a time, his mouth   
turned up.  “Well then, perhaps we’ll make the best of it.”  
  
Laura sat at the table and reached for her skimpy glass of wine before giving him a wide smile.  “We   
will."  

 

 

 


	6. Discoveries

_Thursday, 9 June 1988 -- 12 weeks, 0 days  
  
_ Siobhán awakened to soft sunlight from the window in the corner of the bedroom.  The white alarm   
clock on the bedside table showed nine twenty-two.  Hesitantly creeping out of the comfortable bed, she   
opened the door to peer down the hall.  Unable to see past the foyer, she slipped into the bathroom and   
brushed her teeth.  Nervously, she fingered a towel and washcloth that looked as if it had been set out on   
the counter.  It took her a minute to figure out how to get the shower warm.  When it was, she quickly   
washed and dressed in a pair of khaki slacks and a soft pink shirt from her suitcase.  
  
Her governess insisted that she turn herself out appropriately every day.  By now it was a matter of   
habit.  She returned to her room for the brown shoes placed neatly near the foot of the bed.  She twisted   
her wet hair into a simple braid and tied it with a band she had in her case.  Curious about this relative   
she’d heard bits and pieces about, she took a deep breath and quietly moved down the short hallway.    
When necessary, fake poise, she reminded herself--another lesson from a prior governess.  Rounding the   
corner to the kitchen, she saw her cousin stirring a cup of tea and found herself fascinated by the   
similarities between them.  
  
She was still embarrassed by her outburst last night.  Alone in a strange country, filled with people and   
languages she didn’t understand, the sound of home had taken apart her composure.  Uncomfortable   
with the memory, she quietly walked into the kitchen.  
  
*****  
  
Early that morning, Laura took off for the office to handle a pressing issue before clearing both of their   
schedules for the last two days of the week.  She’d promised to return by lunchtime with Mildred so they   
could take Siobhán to the mall for whatever the girl needed.  When Remington heard the shower come   
on, he took advantage of the warning to prepare tea and breakfast for his cousin.  
  
Still dazed by his wife’s calm acceptance of the situation, he wondered exactly how much the pregnancy   
contributed to it.  Whatever the reason, he was grateful for her unquestioning support.  
  
Siobhán appeared.  Remington appreciated her approach even as he wondered why she’d developed the   
habit of moving silently.  “Good morning,” he offered.  
  
“Good morning,” she said, her voice hardly above a whisper.  
  
By daylight, he could see that they bore more than a faint resemblance to each other.  In fact, she looked   
a great deal like the single picture he had of his own mother, only with clear gray eyes instead of his blue   
and hair a light shade of brown instead of his black.  If Remington was the darker version, she was the   
lighter; it was rather disconcerting considering they were no more than second cousins.  
  
“Would you care for breakfast?” he asked, making sure he kept the Irish sing-song in his voice.    
Watching her with his peripheral vision as he moved around the kitchen, he decided that she looked   
hardly older than Mindy’s age of twelve with her hair pulled back in a braid and severe clothing, despite   
her height and angular features.  
  
“I would, thank you.”  She took a seat at the island where he placed a cup of tea in front of her.  She   
sipped, keeping her eyes down as she had been taught.  
  
After fifteen minutes of short, polite answers to his questions, Remington came around the island to sit   
next to her while she daintily consumed two eggs and a slice of toast with excruciatingly correct   
manners.  “Siobhán, I, too, grew up in places where I was expected to be seen and not heard.  This is not   
that kind of place.  You’ll not be punished or demeaned for asking questions here.  If you still want it to   
be, this is your home now.  We want you to be comfortable here.”  
  
Grey eyes came up to meet blue ones, and she nodded in understanding.  “Thank you.”  
  
Realizing he would have to change strategies, he pulled out a sheet of paper he didn’t need to make a list   
he was quite capable of keeping in his head.  “Now, what sort of food do you prefer to eat?  I do most of   
the cooking around here.  Laura’s getting better, but we wouldn’t want to rely on her for more than one   
or two meals a week.”  
  
Siobhán smiled rather hesitantly and ventured, “I can help.  Cook, I mean.”  
  
“Perfect.  Then there will be two people in the house who can do more than put a salad together and   
warm up leftovers.”  
  
She giggled quietly at that.  “Where did she go?”  
  
“Laura?  She had a few things to do at the office this morning before you girls go to the mall.”  
  
“Where does she work?”  
  
He grinned.  “Laura and I have a private detective agency.”  Remington sketched out a brief history of   
their association, minus a few hundred incriminating details.  There would be time enough for that later.  
  
The next hour passed quickly as he made the list of foodstuffs she preferred, cleaned up the kitchen, and   
gave the teen a detailed tour of the house.  While he was showing her about, he noted her wistful glances   
at Laura’s piano.  “Do you play?”  Another shy nod.  “Ask Laura, but I doubt she’ll mind.  She adores   
listening to music.  So do I.”  
  
“Can you play?” Siobhán wondered.  
  
“Not a single solitary note.  We’re lucky I can keep a beat well enough to slow dance.”  The girl smiled   
at that, and Remington thought he’d done well that morning in keeping her mood light as he reassured her  
in numerous ways that she was welcome.  
  
*****  
  
Gaining some confidence, Siobhán wandered around the living room looking at the various trinkets and   
artwork.  The carousel on the bookshelf caught her eye.  After a moment of staring in fascination at the   
delicate circus horses, she asked, “What … what happens now?”  
  
Remington leaned against the piano.  “Siobhán, that is up to you.  I can tell you what Laura and I think   
will work best, but if you’re not comfortable with it, then we’ll come up with something else.  You do   
have some choices here--perhaps not the ones you might prefer, but there are options.”  
  
She shot him a nervous glance.  He nodded in acknowledgment of her discomfort as he began to explain   
what he and Laura had discussed the night before.     
  
*****  
  
Laura breezed in some time later and dropped her briefcase on the island before ditching her jacket over   
the chair.  With an easy smile, she took in the teen’s hesitant posture.  “Hi, Siobhán.”  
  
She closed in on Remington and met him in a sweet kiss made funny because of his embarrassment at   
kissing her in front of the younger girl.  Siobhán looked anywhere but at them.  
  
He touched his lips with his fingers.  “I, ah, was just explaining what we discussed last night to Siobhán.”  
  
“Ah.  Any decisions?”  Laura kept her tone mild.  
  
Remington held his hand out to Siobhán, encouraging her to speak her mind.  
  
Mustering up courage, the teen clasped her hands in front of her.  “I want to stay, if it’s all right.”  She   
looked at Remington for support, and he nodded.  “As for adopting me--”  She shrugged.  “My mother   
died when I was five, and I only saw Johnny once or twice a year.  It’s not as if I knew my parents.  If   
you two want to adopt me, it’s okay by me.  But--”  She stopped again.  
  
Both Laura and Remington caught the dash of longing that the girl tried to conceal, and he crossed the   
room to lay a hand on her shoulder.  “What is it?”  
  
“What am I supposed to call you?  I mean, I know in public I’ll refer to you as ‘Mum’ and ‘Da,’ but   
what do I call you when we’re here?”  
  
Laura chuckled as her eyes met her husband’s, and he quipped, “Good Lord, are we back to that again?    
Call me what you like; I’ll probably answer.”  
  
“Be serious for a moment, Rei.”  She gave Siobhán a broad smile.  “I know exactly how you feel.  I   
never knew quite what name to use when I first met Mr. Steele.  How about ‘Laura’ and ‘Remington’   
for now?  Later, if you want to use something different after you know us better, feel free to change it.”  
  
A small nod of the teen’s head indicated her agreement.  
  
Remington put his arm around his young cousin’s shoulders and gave her a slight squeeze.  “We’ll make   
this work, Siobhán.”  
  
The doorbell sounded.  Laura buzzed Mildred up in the elevator.  
  
Siobhán returned Mildred's wide smile as the older woman did a little dance into the room and said,   
“Who’s ready for shopping?  I’ve got a credit card that’s begging to have some serious damage done to   
it!”    
  
Laura glanced at Siobhán, picking up on the excitement in the teen’s face.  “I think we are.  But I’m   
hungry.”  
  
Remington smiled and came up behind Laura, resting his hands on her belly out of habit.  “In your   
condition, you’re always hungry.  It’s a rather pleasant change of pace.”  
  
Siobhán had a faint look of confusion in her expression.  
  
Rather proudly, Remington told her, “Laura is pregnant.”  Comically, he bopped his forehead with one   
hand while still holding on to Laura with the other.  “Perhaps I should have mentioned that you’ll be   
getting a little brother or sister sometime around Christmas.  I do hope it doesn’t change your mind about   
all this.”  
  
She shook her head.  
  
“Good.  You girls have a good time.  I’ll have dinner ready when you return.”  
  
  
  
The afternoon trip to the mall was a success.  Siobhán came back to the penthouse carrying more   
shopping bags than she’d ever seen at one time.  Laura and Mildred had walked her from one end of the   
mall to the other and helped her to pick out everything from jeans and tennis shoes to swimsuits for the   
beach and even a few cosmetics that Laura thought she was old enough to wear.  They also found   
sunglasses for her and managed, by virtue of its being a Thursday afternoon, to squeeze in a hair   
appointment.  
  
Siobhán came out wearing white jeans and boots, a purple blouse and hair that was about six inches   
shorter.  Long spirals bounced at her shoulders, and her lips were slicked with gloss.  In other words, she   
looked like a typical California teenager.  
  
Laura and Mildred were tickled to see Siobhán respond to the attention and come out of her shy shell.  It   
was obvious that she was a personable young woman with a great deal of intelligence and common   
sense.  At the beginning of the trip, the girl had been wide-eyed and closed-mouthed as she absorbed   
everything going on around her.  But the two women determinedly drew her out with questions, asking   
her opinions and paying special attention to her body language.  In the mid-afternoon, the cherry Coke in   
the food court loosened Siobhán’s reserve.  She began to converse with Laura with more ease--and made   
hesitant smiles at Ms. Krebs wry comments.  
  
Somewhere between the second shoe store and the place that sold chunky bracelets, Siobhán clued in to   
the fact that she was taller than Laura--Mum, she reminded herself--by a good two inches and positively   
towered over Ms. Krebs.  She liked what she saw in the mirror when she changed into one of her new   
outfits after getting her hair cut.  After seeing what the other girls her age at the mall were wearing, she   
had realized that the slacks and shirt she’d worn that day were hopelessly of the wrong style and felt   
much more comfortable in her new clothes.  Laura-- _Mum_ \--and Ms. Krebs clapped appreciatively when   
she came out of the bathroom.  
  
Laura toyed with one of the loose curls near Siobhán’s ear, idly commenting, “Remind me to show you a   
picture of your great-aunt.”  
  
“Mary-Claire?” Siobhán said in surprise.  
  
Laura dropped the lock and gathered up several shopping bags.  “Yes.  You look like her.  A great deal   
like her in fact.”  Pausing for a minute while the teen picked up the remaining sacks, she asked,   
“Siobhán, just how much do you know about your aunt Mary-Claire, your grandmother Colleen, and Mr.   
Steele?”  
  
As they had for the latter half of the outing, Siobhán’s words tumbled over each other in her excitement   
to have real conversation.  Home had been terribly quiet and dull.  “Just what Housekeeper told me.  My   
Grandmother Colleen raised Ciarán until she died when he was nearly four.  After the funeral, Johnny   
wanted to leave Dublin so he gave Ciarán to one of Mary-Claire’s cousins.  He stayed there for almost a   
year before they brought him back to Johnny’s.  
  
“Housekeeper gets terribly angry when she speaks of it.  She said he was covered in dirt and bruises, and   
the only reason he left that place was because the local priest was asking questions.  But Johnny didn’t   
come back to care for him as Grandmother Colleen asked.  Instead, he called some other relative to take   
in Ciarán.  From what Housekeeper said, he was passed around that way for a few years until somebody   
dropped him at one of the orphan’s homes instead of Johnny’s.  After that, he disappeared.  Johnny didn’  
t find him until he was much older.”  
  
Curious and ever the detective, Laura asked, “How did you learn all this?”  
  
“There are pictures here and there of Ciarán in Johnny’s house and a box of his scribbles in the nursery.    
I asked Housekeeper who he was.  Housekeeper didn’t mind my asking questions so much.  I always felt   
sorry for him even though I hadn’t met him.  But I have now, haven’t I?  It’s hard to think of …   
Remington … as that same little boy in the pictures.  How did he get the name ‘Remington Steele’   
anyway?”  
  
Laura bit her lip while Mildred covered her smile with her hand.  “It’s a long story for another day …   
and one your cousin ought to be in on when we tell it,” Laura told her.  “Is anybody hungry?”  
  
She received only groans in reply.  
  
  
  
Fred dropped off the trio and their largesse as close to the lobby as possible before carrying his share to   
the elevator.  He tipped his hat to ‘Miss Steele,’ as he’d been introduced to her, and wished her a good   
day.  
  
In the elevator, the teen muttered over and over again, “Siobhán Steele, Siobhán Steele.”  The thought   
had crossed her mind at the mall that ‘Siobhán O’Callaghan’--the mousy, hidden daughter of a jailed   
Dublin crime boss and a dead mother--could disappear with her shadowy relatives and lonely existence.    
In her place was now “Siobhán Steele” who lived in Los Angeles, California, with her dad and his wife.  
  
Any number of times in the past several years, she’d fantasized about having a family--a real family that   
lived and played together.  She’d seen on TV and read in books about how other people lived.  She knew   
that the people who worked for Johnny had their own families.  Now it seemed as if her dreams were   
being handed to her on a silver platter.  
  
Hearing Siobhán’s soft words, Laura asked, “Do you think you can get used to it?  The new name?”  
  
Siobhán nodded happily, albeit with shyness still.  
  
After Laura pushed the foyer door open, she peeked around the corner to the kitchen and smiled at   
Remington, who was putting the final touches on an exquisite dinner.  He’d obviously taken the time to   
prepare a special meal for his cousin and had set the dining room table accordingly.  “You’re not going to   
believe this,” she commented.  
  
He smiled and crossed to touch his lips to hers before catching a glimpse of his cousin over her shoulder.    
“Bloody hell, Laura.  We’ll have to lock her up.”  He was more than a little pole-axed by Siobhán’s   
appearance.  That morning she had looked like a gawky little girl in the wrong clothes; now she looked as  
if she were on the brink of adulthood.  
  
Laura introduced her.  “Meet Siobhán Steele.”  She and Mildred watched him carefully greet his new   
‘daughter’ with pecks on each cheek before standing back to look at her.  Siobhán flushed and pursed   
her lips as she waited for him to finish his assessment.    
  
“Absolutely lovely, Miss Steele,” he pronounced.  A bashful smile appeared, and he pulled her in for a   
quick hug and kiss to her forehead.    
  
Seeing them together only magnified their similarities.  Laura had to shake her head.  “If I didn’t know   
that you were in South America when she was conceived, even I would have a hard time believing you   
weren’t her father.”  
  
Remington crossed his arms and stroked his chin, looking at Siobhán, Laura and Mildred in turn.  “You   
know, I never thought I would have family at all.  Now it seems I’m swimming in relatives.  All in all, it’s  
a rather nice feeling.  Dinner’s ready.”  He turned away to carry the last dish to the table.  
  
*****  
  
They spent the rest of the weekend settling Siobhán into the penthouse.  The shy teen still couldn’t quite   
believe the turn of events.  She felt awful about Johnny, but honestly, knowing he was in jail wasn’t   
much different from thinking he was in London.  She rarely saw him more than once or twice a year--  
usually only at her birthday and Christmas.  She spent most of her time in her governess’ company and   
with a handful of servants that treated her well, but she’d always felt like an outsider whenever it became   
clear they had their own families.  Johnny trusted no one and, in his zeal to protect Siobhán, had isolated   
her from all but a few people.  
  
To say her life was suddenly different was an understatement.  Laura and Remington took her   
everywhere over the next few days.  To the grocery store.  To dinner.  To the movies.  Even just around   
town for a tour.  Ms. Krebs--Ms. Mildred, as they decided Siobhán could call her--came along for that   
one.  Siobhán decided again that she really liked the lady.  She’d liked hearing the three of them talk with   
each other, poking fun and making one another laugh.  Last evening, after driving around downtown Los   
Angeles and showing her where they worked, they’d all gone to the beach and walked along the sand.  
  
At the moment, this felt like a grand adventure.  The warm sun was so different from the perpetual cool   
air in Dublin.  And the ocean!  She’d been to the sea a handful of times but had never walked on the   
beach with water lapping over her feet.  Remington promised to bring her back to swim in a few days.    
Like any eager teen, she couldn’t wait.  
  
Her cousin was still an enigma to her.  She couldn’t quite reconcile the tall man with the picture of the   
little boy she’d stashed in her suitcase, but she’d felt the connection all the same.  She’d shown   
Remington and Laura the photograph she’d brought and set out on the dresser of her room.  The child of   
three stood in a garden with his hands stuffed into his pockets, earnestly looking off to the side with his   
wavy dark hair falling over his eyes.    
  
Taking it from her, Remington had stared at it for the longest time.  With her permission, he slipped the   
picture from the frame and turned it over.  She’d done the same any number of times and knew he’d   
find a simple notation on the back: _Ciarán Patrick 1957_.  Without a word, he'd replaced the photograph   
and handed it back to her.  
  
“Of all things to bring with you from home, Siobhán, why that?” he'd wondered.  
  
She’d shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I guess that knowing another kid lived at the house made me feel …   
less alone.  And I didn’t want to leave him there by himself.”  He’d touched his fingers to his lips and   
nodded before giving her a hug.  She liked it.  Nobody ever hugged her at Johnny’s.  Something about   
her cousin made her feel safe--and welcome.  
  
It was funny though; he could turn his Irish brogue off and on at will.  He used it all the time around her,   
but when they were in public and speaking to others, the accent disappeared to be replaced by a British   
one.  She wondered about that.  Even with as much time as Johnny spent in London, he still kept his   
Dubliner brogue, albeit peppered with British vernacular.  
  
Laura, on the other hand, was American through and through.  Her cousin’s wife intimidated her, just a   
little.  In Siobhán’s world, women were always servants or the pretty decoration for one of Johnny’s   
friends.  While Laura and Remington made a nice-looking couple, Laura wasn’t around just for looks.    
She spoke her mind, exchanged retorts with Remington and clearly had smarts--and she didn’t use   
pregnancy as an excuse to get out of doing everything.  In fact, other than the fact she was hungry all the   
time and her tummy was rounding, Siobhán wouldn’t have known at all.    
  
She wasn’t sure how she felt about a baby in the house.  She’d only seen a few fussy ones while out on   
the rare excursion with Johnny.  But Remington and Laura seemed excited.  Laura had come home with   
two infant outfits she hadn’t been able to resist purchasing at the mall.  Remington had picked up the tiny   
pajamas and got a strange look in his eye before touching his lips to Laura’s temple and then her cheek.  
  
That was another thing.  They were always touching.  And kissing.  And flirting.  Siobhán just knew she   
missed the point of a lot of the comments they made to each other.  Late last night, she’d slipped into the   
kitchen for a drink of water and caught them lying in front of the fireplace.  They hadn’t noticed her and   
continued their argument about what to name the baby between kisses.  Every time Laura had protested,   
Remington kissed her again.  When they’d stopped talking altogether, she’d fled silently down the   
hallway, embarrassed at their intimacy even as it hadn’t been too overt.  
  
This bright Sunday morning though, she smiled a little as she remembered their argument--something   
about Laura's refusing to name their child after somebody named “Humphrey.”  She couldn’t really   
blame her for that one.  
  
It felt odd to her to still be wearing pajamas as she walked down the hall, but each of the last two   
mornings, she’d noted Laura and Remington wearing them or dressing gowns at breakfast.  Not wanting   
to be the odd one out, she had put on a new set they’d purchased at the mall and bravely made her way   
to the kitchen.  She found Laura there making tea, wearing a silk robe tied at the waist; her hair was still   
mussed from sleep.  
  
“Good morning, Siobhán.”  Laura lightly hugged her around the shoulders before handing her a cup of   
tea.  
  
“Ah, good morning.”       
  
“Want to help me wake up your cousin?”  Last night, Laura had put a lot of thought into how they might   
make Siobhán feel a part of the family.  The girl was scared of intruding in their space--understandably   
so.  Laura and Remington had done a little plotting and come up with this scheme to break the ice.  
  
Siobhán’s eyes flew open in surprise.  “I can’t do that.”  
  
“Sure you can.  He’s very ticklish on his feet, and they happen to be hanging out from under the edge of   
the covers.  Come on.”  Laura tugged on the teen’s hand.  They stopped at the door, peering around to   
make certain Remington still slept.  
  
He feigned rather well, even snoring lightly for effect.  Laura gently pushed the girl into the room and   
motioned her to the foot of the bed.  
  
Nibbling on her thumbnail on the way over, Siobhán approached his feet with the lightness of a cat   
stepping across a shelf full of china.  At Laura’s encouragement, she reached out and tickled a bare foot.    
He twitched.  She tickled it a little more.  He pulled that foot under the cover.  She tickled the other foot.    
He twitched and groaned.  This time, she tickled it for real and he rolled over.  
  
Opening his eyes, he snorted.  “Fabulous.  Now I have two of you who can’t stand to let a man rest in   
the mornings.”  
  
Siobhán giggled, and Laura reached out to snatch his pillow off the bed.  “This works too.”  
  
“Laura!” he protested.  
  
“Up, darling.  No sleeping in today.  We have a great deal to do.”  
  
He arched a brow at his young cousin.  “I really must discuss my theories about irresponsibility with   
you.  Hopefully, you’ll take after me rather than Laura.”  He sat up and scratched his hair that stood   
every which way before dropping his hand to scrub his stubble.  
  
Seeing Remington and Laura looking less than perfect that morning went a long way to making Siobhán   
feel at home with the Steeles.  
  


 

 


	7. Introductions

As June turned into July, Roselli helped them process the adoption paperwork in time to register Siobhán   
for a nearby all-girls college prep school.  Testing determined that she needed only to focus on American   
government and the higher sciences as her math, language arts and history knowledge were nothing short   
of phenomenal.  As Siobhán told Laura, “When you’re locked up in a house, it’s easy to find time to   
study.”  The school placed her as a junior because of her young age but gave her the option of either   
graduating in a year or staying for two in order to take additional electives to round out her education.  
  
Construction began on the penthouse, and Siobhán danced with excitement over the plans for turning the   
space into three bedrooms and a playroom.  Remington worked with the architect to preserve a certain   
portion of the other apartment so that she had the “old” master bedroom and bath for her use.  To give   
Siobhan that privacy, the Steeles had decided to give up the idea of a separate children’s bathroom and   
expand the existing one instead.  The workout space and play area would separate Siobhán’s rooms from   
the new children’s rooms.  The only untouched area of that corner of the penthouse would be the current   
guest bedroom where Siobhán was staying.  The rest would be torn out and completely rebuilt.  
  
At the moment, the work next door left the family undisturbed.  Unfortunately, Remington figured out   
that the walls were going to come down between the two places just about the time Laura started her last   
trimester.  Remembering Kate in those days had him more than a little nervous.  
  
  
  
And speaking of Kate … Remington discovered that managing the press was easy.  Managing Laura’s   
family was much, much harder.  
  
That week, Laura called her mother and broke the news.  Naturally, Abigail came to see the girl for   
herself and spent the entire luncheon she insisted on having with the new family asking questions that   
even Mr. Steele found difficult to deflect.  Abigail's obvious enchantment with the girl gave Laura hope   
for their future relationship.  
         
Of course, Mr. Steele could do no wrong in Abigail's eyes.  Laura received a pointed reminder as she   
walked her mother to the car.  
  
“Now, Laura.  I don’t want you to be holding all this against Remington.  He’s a good man.  You know   
that men have their little flings when they are young.  I’m certain he was simply sowing his wild oats   
before he settled down with you.  She’s a pretty girl, and I expect you to treat her well.”  Abigail dug in   
her purse for her keys before giving her daughter a hard look.  
  
Laura rolled her eyes.  “Mother, I told you that I’m legally adopting her.  Siobhán is mine too.”  
  
Abigail looked her up and down.  “Yes, well, you were a moody, irritable teenager.  I hope she has a   
better temper than you.”  
  
“Mother, I like her.  She’s a sweet young woman.  I’m glad she’s come to live with us.”  Laura tried   
once again to reassure her mother.    
  
“I just don’t want you running off Mr. Steele and his daughter the way you ran off Wilson.”  As usual,   
Abigail missed the hurt in her daughter’s eyes at that remark and kept talking.  “He’s a good catch, treats   
you very well, and I won’t have you ruining it over this.  You’ve invested a good couple of years in this   
marriage.  Don’t throw that away.”  
  
Pressing her lips together in determination to keep her composure, Laura crossed her arms and stepped in   
front of her mother.  “Mom, I love Remington.  And he loves me.  Siobhán is his, which makes her   
mine.”  
  
Abigail patted Laura's cheek before getting into her car.  “Yes, Laura, I know.  But don’t blow it, dear.  I   
like having another granddaughter.  She’ll be an excellent addition to the family.  Have a nice day.”  She   
pulled the door shut and drove away, leaving her daughter standing on the curb in frustration.  
  
“That went rather well,” Remington commented lightly as he and Siobhán caught up with Laura.  
  
Laura clutched her own arms as she turned and tilted her head back, swallowing back tears and slowly   
blowing out her breath.  “I can never satisfy her.”  
  
Having missed the conversation between mother and daughter, Remington reached for her hand.  But   
Laura saw the worry in Siobhán’s face and cleared the frustration from her own.  “Siobhán, my mother   
berated me about making certain that I treat you well.  She wants what’s best for you.”  She mustered up   
a smile and a laugh.  “In fact, she said that she likes having another granddaughter.”  
  
Siobhán’s frown cleared, and the trio stepped into the waiting limousine.       
  
  
  
Donald and Frances welcomed the Steeles into their home on Friday night.  Danny goggled over his   
exotic grey-eyed cousin with her Irish accent and willowy figure.  He’d recently discovered girls, and   
having a beautiful one dropped on his doorstop fired his imagination for weeks.    
  
Frances took one look at Siobhán, noting the obvious similarities between the girl and Remington, and   
nodded knowingly before complimenting Laura in private on her aplomb in dealing with the “situation.”  
  
In the privacy of their bedroom that night, Laura quietly vented her frustrations to Remington.  Pacing   
about the room, she said, “What bothers me more than anything is that both Mom and Frances accepted   
the idea that you have a nearly grown daughter without a second thought.  Donald looked annoyed, but   
Frances essentially shrugged and said ‘boys will be boys.’ ”  
  
“Laura, you told me that this is how they would react.”  
  
“I know; I know.  I just wish they wouldn’t be so predictable.  I’ve got to quit expecting more from them   
than I should.”  Raking her fingers through her hair, she added, “I guess I need to learn to deal with this   
now.  It’s only going to get worse when it hits the press.”  
  
Remington sat on the edge of the bed, catching her fingers as she walked across the room again.  “I’m   
sorry, love.”  He knew Laura’s relationship with her mom was tenuous on the best of days.  It had   
improved with marriage and pregnancy but obviously had suffered a major setback with all this.  
  
Annoyed at his apology, she retorted, “Rei, we’re doing this for Siobhán.  It’s not about you.  No one   
can change the fact she looks just like you.  I only wish my family was a little more astute.”  Shaking her   
head again, she added, “None of this is any different from when I was at home.  Kate was the only one   
who could tell when I was pulling something over on Mom or Frances.”  
  
“How did Kate take it when you told her this afternoon?”  
  
Laura slanted a wry glance at Remington.  “They’re coming in a month.  Be prepared to answer   
questions.”  
  
  
  
The Policeman’s Ball on Saturday was an ideal place to break the story, and the media bought it without   
issue.  Remington and Laura entered the room first, her pregnancy obvious in a white column dress that   
clung in just the right places.  She wore a stunning red diamond pendant that rested just where her belly   
started to curve.  Siobhán followed, escorted by Kaleb Carter and wearing a pale grey dress that accented   
her silver eyes and slim figure.  
  
Remington had asked Kaleb to escort his daughter since he trusted no other to keep his hands off her.    
The press had a field day with his not-very-subtle protective nature, finding it amusing that the former   
playboy worried over a stunning debutante.  Remington played the media well as he gave the appropriate   
explanations.  He kept the focus on him making much of both his pregnant wife and “daughter” during   
the evening.  Siobhán wasn’t allowed to dance with anyone but him or her escort, and Laura was amused   
to see a hint of defiance in her “daughter’s” expression by the end of the night as she turned down yet   
another good-looking young man who asked for a turn on the dance floor.  
  
Laura breathed a sigh of relief as Remington’s defensive instincts were, for the moment, not focused on   
her and the baby--or the rather expensive jewelry she wore.  All in all, it was a wonderful evening.  She   
danced with several police officers including Detective Jarvis and the police commissioner.  The rest of   
the time, Remington swayed with her on the dance floor and murmured innuendos into her ear while   
keeping an eye on Siobhán.  
  
  
  
Katy and Murphy flew down at the beginning of August and weren’t so easy to deceive.  Given the state   
of the penthouse--which Murphy found a great many things to rib Remington about--they elected to stay   
with Abigail even though Siobhán offered to sleep on the sofa for the weekend.  When they came to visit,   
Siobhán was fascinated by both sets of twins.  When the younger ones were awake, she played with   
them until they were ready to drop again.  While they slept, she peppered Kate and Laura with questions   
about growing up together.  
  
After a while, Laura distracted the teen by asking Kate for her opinion on how to outfit the nursery.    
Wanting to be helpful, Siobhán took it upon herself to take notes.  While she wrote, Kate watched both   
her and Laura, tapping her cheek thoughtfully.  Laura knew by that look that there was a conversation to   
be held later.  
  
Murphy and Remington sneaked out while the ladies were occupied and found a table at the bar next   
door.  After the last weekend they’d had together, where Michaels had knocked some sense into his head   
after he'd panicked over Laura's pregnancy, Steele knew he owed his brother-in-law a debt of gratitude.  
  
The bartender nodded when they arrived and sent over a couple of drinks via the blonde waitress.    
Remington could see Murphy's irritation, assumed it was directed at him as usual, and settled   
comfortably in his chair to be berated.  
  
“A daughter, Steele?  One you’ve managed to keep hidden for fifteen years?  And now you spring her on   
Laura when she’s pregnant?  Right.  Tell me another one.  I’m not buying it.”  
  
Remington leaned back and took a quick drink from his bottle.  “You tell me, then.”  
  
Murphy eyed him and mentally sifted through the few facts he had.  “She looks too much like you not to   
be related.”  He thought for a moment, sipping his beer.  “I’ve seen your mother’s picture.  You both   
look like her.  But she can’t be your sister through your mother.”  He took another swig.  “You   
mentioned cousins once.  She’s your cousin.  Why do you have custody?”  
  
Steele kept his face composed.  Laura hit that one dead in the middle.  “Keep going.  This sounds   
interesting.”  
  
Murphy grinned, knowing he was on the right track.  “She’s Irish, and you haven’t had contact in a while   
or Laura would have mentioned it to Kate.  Her parents aren’t here, but she’s not grieving.  So either   
they’ve been gone a while or they aren’t dead.  Or one of each.”  He caught the barest flicker in Steele’s   
eyes.  “The latter.  One dead, one gone.  The dead one is a while back.  The other … why would the   
other allow you to adopt?  Why would her parent give consent for adoption--not just guardianship?  You   
changed her name to yours, put out this story and staked your reputation on it.  To protect her from   
what?”  
  
Remington was amused at Murphy’s thought process.  It had been a long time since he’d seen his brother   
work through the clues of a mystery in this manner, reminding him why the man made a good detective.    
Murphy worked the facts in a loop in his head until they made sense.  It wouldn’t be long now.  
  
“The parent wants to protect the child by getting her out of Ireland and changing her name.  No one   
knows you’re related.  The parent will be … in jail perhaps? … for a while--maybe a long while--and has   
to appoint a guardian.  But he doesn’t.  He signs away parental rights in your favor.  Whom do you know   
with enemies that might go after a daughter while he’s in jail?  Who has gone to jail recently in Ireland   
that might know you and think it would be safe to give you custody of his daughter?  Who thinks you   
have that kind of power to protect her?”  
  
Remington drank deeply from his own glass and flicked his eyebrows at Murphy, who drew his own   
together in a scowl.  “It can’t be O’Callaghan.  He has a daughter, but he’s dead.  His wife is dead.    
Johnny Carlisle has the girl because he kidnapped her.  Carlisle’s been arrested in Bermuda.  It was in the   
paper … a couple of weeks before Laura told Kate about Siobhán.”     
  
Murphy sat back, stunned.  “Wait a minute.  Either you’re related to O’Callaghan--but I can’t imagine   
you would take in his daughter under any circumstances out of respect for Laura.  But what about   
Carlisle?  Is Carlisle really her father?  He could sign consent.  Crap.  You’re related?”  
  
Impressed by his brother-in-law’s deductions, Steele nodded.  “Carlisle.  Siobhán and I are second   
cousins.  But she’s mine now, Murphy.  And no one will think different.”  His voice was firm, and he   
tapped the table for emphasis.  
  
Murphy nodded, thinking it through.  “It makes sense.  It also explains why Laura is so calm about the   
situation.  Kate figured Laura would have a conniption and couldn’t figure it out.  Damn, Steele.  She   
looks just like you.  It’s a little weird if you ask me.  So what’s it like having a teenager in the house?”  
  
Relieved at Murphy’s apparent acceptance of the situation, Remington relaxed.  “Odd.  Very odd.    
Siobhán alternates between being intensely private and incredibly chatty, but she’s intelligent, and I don’t   
mind the latter much.  She reads voraciously and is fascinated by the telly.  It’s apparent that she’s used   
to entertaining herself but likes company.  She enjoys going anywhere with us at all and has excellent   
manners.  Daniel would be pleased by her deportment.  Laura thinks she’s so damned grateful to be out   
of the cage she was in that she’s afraid to rock the boat right now.”  
  
“That would make sense.  You’re lucky she’s not an angry kid.”  
  
“No--that she’s not.  In that, she and I are polar opposites.  At her age, I fought against anyone and   
anything.  In retrospect, I wonder how Daniel managed to get through to me.”  He shook his head and   
played with the bottle, remembering the arguments they’d had.  “Daniel was like a damned terrier.  Once   
he had hold of me, nothing I did would shake him loose.  I didn’t realize it at the time, but he never gave   
up on me.”  
  
Murphy saw the sadness in his friend’s eyes and changed the subject.  “What do you do with her while   
you work?”  
  
“She comes with us most of the time.  Laura likes having her along while she does a bit of legwork.    
Siobhán throws off the scent just by being there, doesn’t ask questions until the interview is over, and   
then peppers Laura with intelligent questions and observations.  Taking her along lets Laura slow down   
without having to admit she needs to do so.  When we’re at the office, Siobhán hangs out on my couch   
and reads.    
  
“I do like taking her to the movies.  We made a deal:  for every old movie I make her watch, I have to   
take her to a new one.  So far we’ve seen Big, A Fish Called Wanda and Die Hard on her end and Love   
Affair, Casablanca and Gone with the Wind on mine--although she says I owe her one because the latter   
was in two parts.”  Remington shook his head in amusement, remembering the teen’s earnest arguments   
about that one.  
  
“Does Laura go with you?”  
  
“When she can, but she’s working like a fiend these days knowing that soon she’ll have to take some   
time off.  I think she’s rather glad the baby is due around the holidays.  It’s a slow time of year   
anyway.”  He paused for a quick sip.  “I feel for the girl.  Laura was right when she said Siobhán was   
terribly lonely.  Sometimes Siobhán stays at the flat, but not often.  She tells me she’d rather take a book   
and be in our company than be alone with a whole house full of toys.  She does miss walking about on   
Carlisle’s land though, so we have Sunday outings to the beach.”  
  
Remington grinned at the memory.  “Laura looks adorable in a swimsuit now.  Rather like a pregnant   
fairy when her hair is curling from the sea water and it’s dripping down her back.”  
  
Seeing the image in his head, he reached for a napkin and borrowed a pen from a passing waitress,   
sketching as he talked of Laura, the baby and their last trip to the obstetrician.  Murphy watched in   
fascination as Steele turned quick, bold strokes into a portrait of Laura in just a few minutes.  He laughed   
when Remington drew in a pair of ethereal wings and a forest background where he had her standing on   
a tree limb.  
  
“Don’t let her see that.  It completely ruins her image of the independent woman capable of holding her   
own against any man,” Murphy warned.  
  
“I think I’ll hang it in our bedroom.”  Remington held up the napkin and admired it while drinking his   
beer.  
  
  
  
Late that evening, Siobhán nibbled on a curl while listening to Kate and Laura talk.  Murphy had taken   
the boys back to Frances’ house to put them to bed, giving the twins a chance to visit without the boys   
interrupting every five seconds.  Remington took advantage of the situation and met with his trainer at the  
fencing academy for a refresher.  It had been a while since he’d made it over there and knew he was out   
of form.  
  
Laura and Siobhán took up opposite ends of one sofa and snacked on a fruit, cheese and cracker tray   
that Remington had left for them to munch on.  Kate sat on one of the cushy chairs, dangling her feet   
over the arm and picking through the green grapes to find a red one hiding underneath before casually   
asking, “So tell me, Siobhán, exactly how are you and Remington related?”  
  
Siobhán blanched and looked to Laura who collapsed in gales of laughter.  Laura reached up and patted   
her daughter on the arm.  “It’s okay.  That’s the problem with twins--it’s nearly impossible to put   
anything past them.”  She turned to Kathleen.  “Siobhán is biologically Remington’s second cousin   
through his mom and her dad.  They shared a great-grandmother.”  Tilting her head, she asked, “What   
gave it away?”  
  
Kate sucked on another grape.  “Sorry, Siobhán--it’s the fact that you still aren’t comfortable calling him   
‘Dad.’  At first, I thought it was because you hadn’t seen him in a while, but then I realized that you didn’  
t think of him as your father in the first place.  I will admit, though, that Murphy’s knowing smirk when   
he came back from the bar was the nail in the coffin.”  She rolled her eyes and shook her head in   
amusement.  “We’ve known each other for a decade, and he still thinks he can put one over on me.”  
  
Seeing the teen’s frightened expression, Kate sat up to reassure her in sincere tones.  “Siobhán, I won’t   
tell anyone.  As far as I’m concerned, you belong to Remington and Laura.  Why you came to live with   
them is none of my business--even though my curiosity is driving me nuts.  You’re one of my nieces   
now.  I only pointed it out to you because when school starts, you should be prepared.  The other kids   
are going to ask you questions, and you’ll need to have answers ready.”  
  
Siobhán chewed on her hair again, and Laura scooted over to sit next to her.  The girl looked at her.    
“What kind of questions will they ask?”  
  
Laura was as honest as she could be.  “At very minimum they’ll want to know why you and your dad   
have Irish accents and I don’t.  They’ll probably start asking questions about your mom, where you lived   
in Ireland, where you went to school and what you did for fun.  It’s not meant to put you on the spot.    
They just want to get to know you, and asking about where you’re from is an obvious question.”  
  
“What should I tell them?”  
“Stick to the truth whenever possible.  I don’t like telling you to lie, Siobhán, but you’re old enough to   
understand that for a few years, you don’t have a choice.”  Laura tapped her fingers on her drawn-up   
knee, thinking it through.  “Try this: explain that your mom worked in the UK--say the antique business--  
and she traveled a lot.  That’s why you had a governess and stayed close to home.  If you talk of your   
travels with Johnny, pretend it was your mom taking you instead of Johnny.  That way, everything else   
can be truthful.  
  
  
“But don’t make up stories, Siobhán.  After a while, you’ll lose track of what you told to whom, and you’  
ll be branded a liar.  If you tell only one or two lies and stick to those like glue, then they’ll pass muster."    
Laura found a piece of cheese and popped it into her mouth.  “Better yet, watch Remington.  He’s a   
master of not answering questions in such a way that you don’t realize he’s avoiding the topic.  We’re   
doing the same thing with you.  We’re not hiding the fact that you just now came to live with us, or that I’  
m not your mother.  Mostly, we gloss over the date your mom passed away; if anything, that’s the lie we   
tell--that she passed away recently instead of ten years ago.”  
  
Kate spoke up, “Siobhán, when a new person asks you where you are from, it’s simple to say that you   
grew up in Ireland, your mom died, and you came to live with your dad.  Most kids will shy away from   
asking any more questions about your background when they hear about your mom.  They don’t have to   
know that it wasn’t recent.  You can change the topic by asking about their shoes or purse or whatever.    
They won’t expect you to know all the cool trends and places to hang out, so they’ll be happy to   
expound on that instead.”  
  
Siobhán nodded, wondering if she would remember all the right things to say.

 

 

 


	8. Quickening

_Wednesday, 17 August 1988 -- 21 weeks, 6 days  
  
_ Two weeks later, Laura was in the kitchen cleaning up after dinner.  Siobhán and Remington sat at the   
island making a list of school supplies and looking over her new schedule.  With school scheduled to start  
in a week, the new family flurried about making transportation arrangements and getting signed up for   
after-school activities.  Last night had been “Meet the Teacher” night, and only Laura had any level of   
comfort with the process.  Remington pretended well enough, and Siobhán kept her head up as she   
walked around the school and met a number of girls in her class.  
  
So far Laura thought the girl was handling herself well.  She’d been calling them “Mum and Da” all week  
so as not to stumble at school, and neither of them pointed out when she missed.  Siobhán was nervous   
enough.  
  
At the office that morning, Laura had sorted through the stack of paperwork they’d received from the   
school, and now she passed it over to Remington along with their checkbook as he and Siobhán debated   
on which activities to choose.  
  
“Keep it to two,” Laura suggested, “at least for this semester.  Sometimes the extracurricular activities   
cause you more work than the classes themselves.  What looks interesting to you?”  
  
“Ah, art, piano and riding lessons,” Siobhán replied.  
  
“I’m impressed, Laura.  I didn’t realize the school boasts a stable where the girls can learn to ride,"   
Remington interjected as he began rifling through the stack of papers.  
  
Siobhán nodded.  “We have to take care of the horses three times a week, but I think I’d like that.”  
  
“It sounds like fun,” Laura agreed.  
  
Picking up the checkbook, Remington asked, “What’s this for?”  
  
“For uniforms, class t-shirts, field trips, fundraisers or whatever else Siobhán needs.  Plus, her tuition is   
due on the first day of school.  It’s all in that paperwork.”  
  
With an arched brow, he began sorting the papers to figure out which ones required money.  “Good   
Lord, what a racket!”  
  
Laura laughed out loud.  “I remember Mother's agonizing over the first month of school and all the   
checks she had to write.”  
  
Siobhán became very still, afraid of becoming a burden.  She liked it here.  Remington and Laura treated   
her as an adult, asked her opinions and included her in nearly everything they did.  She thought the old   
movies they liked to watch were a little weird, but some of them had turned out to be pretty good.  She   
still wasn’t comfortable calling them “Mum” and “Da,” but they didn’t seem to mind, even though the   
adoption paperwork was nearly finalized.  
  
Laura saw her face fall and leaned across the counter to catch her hand.  “Siobhán, it’s okay.  We   
expected this.”  
  
Remington patted her back.  “Of course, _a stór._ ”  He’d started calling Siobhán by the Gaelic endearment,   
meaning “my darling” or “my treasure,” depending on whom you asked.  She liked it and had turned   
pink the first half-dozen times he’d said it.  “I doubt we’ll have to sell the Auburn to pay your tuition,” he   
joked.  
  
The teen cracked a smile that grew broader when Laura added, “We’ll give up your tailor first, Rei.”    
Remington pretended to sulk as he flipped open the checkbook.  
  
As he wrote out the first one, he looked up to ask his wife a question and discovered she was staring off   
to the side and had her hand low on her belly.  “Laura, are you okay?”  Color left his face as he   
scrambled off the chair to reach her.  
  
Siobhán froze in her place, not knowing what to do.  
  
But Laura reached for his hand and placed it under hers.  “I felt the baby move for real that time.  I’ve   
been feeling odd little sensations--like butterflies--all week.  I wasn’t sure if they were real, but this one   
was a … a little thump.”  
  
Siobhán watched Remington embrace Laura and stroke her hair … feeling as if she had intruded on a   
special moment.  
  
The feeling stayed with Siobhán the night before school started.  Nervous and unable to sleep, she tossed   
and turned for nearly an hour before floating down the hallway for a drink of water.  She found   
Remington-- _Da-_ -watching an old movie in the dark with Laura’s head on his lap.  In the flickering light of   
the television, she could see his hand on Laura’s-- _Mum’s_ \--rounding belly, and they were speaking in low   
tones to one another.  He had the oddest smile on his face.  
  
Siobhán started to withdraw, but Remington called her name; she came out, nervously twisting her hair   
around her finger.  “Can’t sleep?” he asked.  
  
She shook her head as she drifted toward them.  
  
Laura looked up at her. “I never could either before the first day of school.  I was too excited and   
nervous all at the same time.”  
  
“Come.  Sit.”  Remington patted the cushion next to him, and Siobhán curled up on the sofa, a little away   
from them.  “We were just talking of you.”  Seeing her apprehension, he smiled softly.  “No, it’s not   
anything bad, Siobhán.  We were wondering if you were okay.  You’ve been rather quiet since last   
week.”  
  
The teen just shook her head again and played with a curl.  She pretended to watch TV while keeping an   
eye on her parents out of the corner of her eye.  
  
  
  
Remington didn’t miss her look and wondered again why she had suddenly become withdrawn these last   
few days.  Laura assured him that teenage girls did this from time to time, and that if they stayed   
attentive and patient, more than likely she would come around.  He wasn’t so sure.  He didn’t think   
Siobhán trusted them quite yet to come to them if she had a problem.  
  
Movement under his hand distracted him as it had this whole evening.  He grinned in awe at Laura.  “I   
felt that.”  Two nights ago, while sleeping with his hand resting on her belly, he’d woken to an odd   
sensation.  Those little bumps and shifts against his sensitive fingers had brought tears to his eyes, and    
he’d been grateful that no one had seen him lose his composure.  Since then, though, he’d found every   
excuse under the sun to keep Laura nearby where he could keep a hand on her.  
  
With a flash of insight, he drew Siobhán closer and placed her hand on Laura’s belly near his.  The baby   
kicked.  Siobhán gray eyes grew enormous.  “Was that the baby?”  
  
“Uh-huh,” confirmed Laura.  They stayed that way until the baby fell asleep again and stopped the   
fluttery thumps.  Siobhán pulled her hand back and started to get up, but Remington stopped her by   
putting an arm around her shoulders.  
  
“Stay, _a stór_.  Stay until you’re ready to sleep.”  Siobhán settled down against, laying her head on his   
shoulder.  Remington laced his fingers with Laura's.  With his cousin in one arm, his wife on his lap and a  
hand resting on his growing child, he closed his eyes--wondering what he’d done to deserve this much   
happiness.  
  
Nearly an hour later, when the movie credits rolled (Sunset Boulevard, William Holden, Gloria Swanson,   
Paramount, 1950), both Siobhán and Laura had fallen asleep, leaving Remington to figure out how to   
extricate himself from the tangle of ladies.  He laughed at himself.  Ten years ago, two women meant …   
best not to think of that.  He’d take these two any day.  
  
Laura woke to his gentle shake.  At her questioning look, he pointed to Siobhán.  She smiled at the   
sleeping teen, and Remington carefully scooped the girl up.  Together they tucked her into bed, and   
Laura touched the girl’s cheek before leaving the darkened room.  
  
Remington and Laura retreated to their bedroom, and she changed into a sheer nightgown that hugged   
her curves.  He came out of the bathroom and halted in his tracks.  “You look beautiful, Laura.”  
  
She blushed from head to toe.  “I’m sure you’re just telling me that.  I’m five months pregnant.  I think I   
might be waddling.”  
  
“Not yet.  I’ve seen some of those women at the doctor’s office.  I can’t wait until you do, though.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
He came up behind her and ran his fingers through her hair and down her body before hugging her   
waist.  “I don’t know.  You remind me of one of Botticelli’s Madonnas.  There’s a portrait in Naples.    
Ah, _Madonna con il Bambino e due angeli_ , 'Madonna and Child and Two Angels.'  I thought it lovely at   
the time.”  
  
She shot him a sly look.  “And what were you doing in Naples?”  
  
“Picking up a painting, of course.  Not that one.  But it was nearby.  I was rather taken with it.”  
  
“I’m surprised you didn’t lift it too.”  
  
“No.  I didn’t have a buyer.  Jewelry--now that I might lift on a whim because one can almost always   
find a way to fence the goods.  But paintings?  I did those by commission.  Unless, of course, there was   
a hefty finder’s fee for recovering a piece.  Then it might be worthwhile to have a go at it.”  He distracted   
her by sliding his hands under her nightgown and nuzzling the back of her neck.  
  
It worked.  She leaned in and teased, “I take it you aren’t one of those men who can’t have sex with a   
pregnant woman?”  
  
“Laura, after years of chastity, I will take you any way I can have you.  I still don’t think we’ve made up   
for all that lost time.  Besides, I rather think I’ll have to take the blame for getting you pregnant so   
quickly in the first place.”  There was a certain amount of masculine pride in that statement as he cupped   
her swelling breasts.  “And it wouldn’t be fair of me to deprive myself.”  
  
She turned and pushed him toward the bed with a laugh.  “That much charm in one man ought to be   
illegal.”  
  
He eased her down to him and began flipping the buttons of her gown open.  “If it gets me what I want--”  
  
  
  
  
The first day of school made all three Steeles nervous.  Siobhán’s classes began at eight-fifteen, which   
meant either Laura or Remington had to leave the flat with her by seven-thirty.  Today, they all went   
together, but Remington had lost the coin flip for Tuesday--and he wasn’t entirely sure Laura didn’t have   
a hand in that.  She’d been entirely too smug when she’d flipped her wrist over and uncovered the   
quarter.  
  
Groaning this morning when the alarm went off at six-thirty, he slapped it off and pulled the sheet over   
his head.  Laura rolled off the bed, taking the covers with her and dove into the shower.  A very grumpy   
Remington wandered into the kitchen to make tea and breakfast for Siobhán.  
  
The teen was extraordinarily quiet as she picked at her eggs and toast.  
  
“Nervous?” Remington asked as he sipped his own tea.  
  
Siobhán nodded.  
  
“Good.  Then I’m not the only one.”  
  
She giggled.  
  
“You think I’m joking, _a stór_.  But I am nervous.  I’ve never taken my daughter off to school before.    
Am I supposed to wave?  Kiss you on the cheek?  Pretend I’ve never seen you before?  Do I give you a   
personal escort to the classroom or drop you off at the front door?  Or perhaps I should slow the car and   
sort of let you jump out and run along?”    
  
Now Siobhán shook with soft laughter.  “How about you give me a hug when we get in the car, and then   
I get out at the front door--after you’ve stopped the car--and I’ll walk in by myself?”  
  
“Excellent idea.  Now I think I can breathe a little easier for the next hour.”  
  
  
Laura did a fair job of acting as a typical mom as they readied to walk out the door.  “You have your   
backpack with all the paperwork that needs to be turned in and your lunch money?”  Siobhán nodded.    
“Okay, then we’ll pick you up at three-fifteen.”  
  
The anxious parents dropped off their daughter in front of the school and waved as she shrugged the   
backpack over her shoulder and walked through the doors.  
  
Remington turned to Laura.  “Well, now I’m in a nervous twitter.  How about you?”  
  
She laughed and nodded in agreement.  
  
  
  
The Steeles accomplished very little that day in the office.  Remington spent most of it annoying Laura   
between clients.  She wasn’t any better--shuffling paper from one side of her desk to the other.  
  
She shook her head in irritation at the file in her hand.  If Laura thought being a young, single, female   
detective was difficult, being a married, pregnant one was nearly impossible.  At five months, she     
couldn’t hide the evidence even if she tried.  The client whose file she held had been the third in a week   
to recoil in horror at the idea of her personally investigating a case.  Laura had quickly resorted to the   
polite phrases that she would “be supervising the resolution of the case” and that “in the event she was   
unavailable, Mr. Steele would step in to personally assist.”  It wasn’t exactly fiction, but it wasn’t reality   
either.  Remington had his own plate full, and the work would more than likely land on Sandra or Kaleb’s   
desk.  The clients didn’t need to know that for the time being, Laura continued to do her own casework   
with few problems.  
  
Aware of their nerves, Mildred took both of them out to lunch and then had a surprise suggestion for   
them.  
  
“Why don’t you let Siobhán stay with me on Saturday night?  You’ve had her all summer.  You two can   
have a night on the town by yourself, and we’ll do some girl things.”  
  
Remington glanced at Laura and rubbed the back of his neck.  “I, ah, sure … if it’s okay with Laura.”  
  
His wife grinned.  “I think we’d better ask Siobhán, but considering she was asking about you, Mildred,   
over dinner last night, I think she’ll be happy to stay.”  
  
Remington leaned back into his chair, and suddenly, a broad smile appeared.  “Well then, Laura, love, I   
think we need to consider some sort of plans for Saturday night.  It seems we have a date.”  
  
“I will leave them in your capable hands, Mr. Steele.”  
  
Mildred happily dug into her lunch, knowing she’d successfully distracted the pair from their nerves--at   
least for a little while.  
  
  
  
The first week of school came off without a hitch, although Remington discovered that six-thirty came   
entirely too early in the morning for his taste.  He negotiated a deal with Laura after the first day that   
whoever took Siobhán to school that morning got to sleep in until seven before diving into the shower   
and dressing in short order. The other was responsible for breakfast.  
  
Laura snickered on Thursday when it was his turn again, and he yawned as he snatched up the thermos   
of tea she’d made--he still didn’t approve of her coffee--on his way out with Siobhán.  She hugged her   
daughter as they went, and she turned back to dress at her leisure.  She still liked getting to the office   
before Ian came in at nine, but Mr. Steele was notorious for not showing up before ten unless Laura   
made it worth his while to get up any earlier.  
  
Each day this week he’d taken Siobhán to school, he’d come in well before nine, and today he sulked   
about the injustice of people starting their days so early in the morning.  
  
“I do think we need to petition the schools into starting at a much more reasonable hour, Laura,” he   
complained from where he perched on the corner of her desk moments after he had arrived.    
  
“You do that, Mr. Steele, and let me know how it goes.”  
  
He grinned.  “Or perhaps we can discuss long lunch breaks instead.”  She pretended to ignore him.    
“No?  Laura, there has to be some sort of compromise here.  I can’t possibly work under these kinds of   
conditions.”  
  
“Well, Mr. Steele,” she said as she ran a hand along the inside of his thigh, “you are your own boss.    
What do you think we should do?”  
  
Remington blinked, crossing his arms as he thought about it.  “Laura, that’s not fair.”  
  
“What’s not fair, Mr. Steele?”  
  
“Well, if I can’t rail about my working hours and feel thwarted by your imposing harsh working   
conditions upon me, then it takes all the fun out of my tirade.”  
  
She laughed.  “Would it make you feel better if I insisted that you sleep in on those days you don’t take   
your daughter to school?”  
  
He frowned.  “It might.  Ah, Laura?”  She looked up again.  “Are we in for this with our impending little   
tyke?”  
  
Leaning back in her chair, she tilted her head, resting her hands on her belly.  “I think it’s safe to say we   
shouldn’t plan on getting much sleep for the next twenty years or so.”  
  
“Oh good.  So long as you realize the realities of the situation.  Somewhere in here we’re going to have to  
figure out how we’re to run this agency with both of us staggering in on a short night’s sleep.”  He leaned   
over and kissed her square on the lips before escaping into his office.  
  
Laura could only stare at the door with her mouth open.  Remington had a better grasp of what was   
coming than she thought.  
  
  
  
Siobhán stayed Saturday night with Mildred.  The teen had been thrilled at the idea of hanging out with   
her, eating popcorn and chocolate, and watching a sappy romantic comedy.  Remington took Laura on a   
date for the first time in two months.  It started with dinner and ended with a long walk along the piers of   
Marina del Rey.  
  
Alone with his wife for the first time in weeks, Remington enjoyed being able to focus entirely on Laura   
and their child without feeling as if he were leaving Siobhán out of the equation.  Listening to the waves   
lap against the pylons, they found a quiet bench at the end of one of the walkways.  Remington straddled   
the bench and sat behind Laura, wrapping his arms around her so that she leaned against him.  
  
They didn’t speak for the longest while, simply enjoying the quiet and the beautiful night.  
  


 

 


	9. Names

_Tuesday, 21 September 1988 -- 26 weeks, 6 days  
  
_ A month later and still in the throes of adapting to school life, the Steele family settled into a rhythm.    
Remington and Laura took turns dropping Siobhán off and picking her up each day.  Mildred exercised   
her grandma rights and absconded with the teen often--taking her out for ice cream, to bowl with the   
Dragon Ladies, or simply to give her parents time alone.  The Dragon Ladies instantly adopted Siobhán   
as one of their own, and Siobhán discovered, to her delight, she suddenly had several “aunts” peppering   
her with questions and advice whenever they hung out together.  
  
Laura had made up a list of chores for Siobhán--which, ironically, made it clear to the teen that this was   
home and made her feel even more a part of the family.  She’d had very little to do at Johnny’s other   
than school work and occasionally reorganizing her room.  
  
She liked helping Da with dinner.  He’d been delighted to find that she really could sauté and make cream  
sauce as well as she’d said.  She didn’t like doing laundry though, viewing it as a necessary evil; but   
Mom had painstakingly made out a list of instructions for her to follow, and now she was responsible for   
her own clothes.    
  
Homework was a whole new realm for the Steeles.  Although Siobhán had little trouble with most of her   
classes, some of the sciences proved troublesome as she’d had little opportunity to experiment with her   
tutors.  However, she loved her after-school activities, becoming an avid lover of horses in a very short   
time.  Her new parents enjoyed the music she learned in her piano lessons, and it wouldn’t be long until   
she surpassed Laura’s abilities.  The two occasionally played duets that Remington found impressive.  
  
  
  
This afternoon, Remington retrieved Siobhan from school and dropped her off at the penthouse.  He and   
Laura had a witness to interview for a murder they were investigating.  But the questioning took longer   
than they'd expected, and by the time they came home, they found a sullen teenager doing homework at   
the dining room table.  
  
Laura walked over to lay a hand on Siobhán’s shoulder, noting the physics homework in front of her.    
“Hi.  How was your day?”  But the teen shook her head and wouldn’t speak.  Laura shot a look to   
Remington before going to the bathroom to change clothes.  They’d discovered in the past two months   
that the teenager responded a little better to him when upset.  
  
He crossed to her, dropping a kiss on her head.  “Have you eaten yet, _a stór_?”  Siobhán sulked and   
shook her head.  “I’ll make dinner then.”  He dropped his coat on the barstool and began putting together   
a cold salmon salad for the three of them.  Silence reigned for nearly fifteen minutes.  
  
Just as Laura crossed to the kitchen wearing a pair of maternity pants and a loose shirt stolen from   
Remington’s half of the closet, Siobhán muttered a Gaelic curse under her breath.  
  
To which Remington automatically replied in the same tongue, _“I_ _rish_ _is a beautiful language, Siobhán.  
Use it for something other than swearing, please._”  He stopped in the middle of the kitchen and put his   
hand on the dimple between his brows.  “Oh, bloody hell, I sound like Daniel when he was teaching me   
to speak French properly.”  
  
Laura smiled at the comment but was puzzled, having missed its context.  Siobhán’s head popped up,   
and she asked in the Irish language, “You speak Irish?”  
  
“I do,” he replied.  “Tell me about your day,” he asked gently.  Haltingly, Siobhán complied.  Somehow   
she found it easier to express her frustrations in her other native tongue.  
  
Laura hadn’t heard the lovely rippling language except in an odd phrase here and there at the movies.  It   
was obviously Irish-sounding.  She guessed they were speaking in Gaelic but had no idea what they were   
saying to each other.  Listening quietly, she moved about the kitchen as she helped with dinner   
preparations.  Remington’s ear for languages never failed to impress her.  
  
She could see from Siobhán’s expressions that the girl was upset.  When the teen finally buried her face   
in her hands, letting tears leak out between her fingers, Remington hugged her shoulders.  Switching back  
to English, he said to Laura, “She doesn’t think she fits in.  The other girls have been friends for a long   
time, and she doesn’t have any way to get to know them because they’re always talking to one other.    
She doesn’t always think of herself as ‘Siobhán Steele,’ and when one of the teachers calls on ‘Miss   
Steele,’ she forgets to answer.  And she doesn’t get physics.  At all.  It’s a subject that was created   
strictly to piss her off and make her miserable.”  
  
Siobhán’s snort of laughter interrupted her tears, and she raised her head to protest.  “I didn’t say it that   
way.”  
  
“No … but that was the implication of the Gaelic curses I heard earlier.  Come; let’s clear the table and   
eat dinner.  Then we’ll both hope that Laura is better at physics than I am.”  
  
Laura set the plates and flatware on the table, amused at the parental tone coming from her husband.  “Is   
that what this was about?”  
  
“For starters, I think,” he replied.  
  
Over the meal, Siobhán told them, “I like my schoolmates.  Everyone’s been awfully nice.  But I don’t   
really know anyone well.”  
  
Laura nodded in understanding and thought for a moment.  They’d carefully selected the school to make   
certain it wasn’t full of affluent cliques that would ostracize a new kid.  But teens were teens and often   
had a hard time extending invitations to new people.  “What if you invited one or two girls here?  Is there   
anyone you’d like to ask?”  
  
Thoughtfully, Siobhán nodded.  “There’s Jennifer.  And Caitlin.  They both say ‘hi’ to me all the time.    
But they have a different lunch period, so I don’t really know them.”  
  
“Ask them if they’d like to come over after school on Friday.  We can order pizza if you’d like,” Laura   
suggested.  “Give them our phone number.  Or, if you would rather, I can call their parents and invite   
them for you.  Don’t we have a directory around here somewhere?”  
  
Remington didn’t try to hide his chagrin.  Three teen girls in the house on a Friday night?  He leaned over  
to Laura and not-so-quietly asked, “What are we supposed to do while they are snickering at us and   
eating pizza?”  Siobhán ducked her head to hide her smile at his question.  
  
Laura pretended to think about it.  “I think we’re supposed to stay in whatever part of the house they   
don’t want to be in.  At least, that’s what we always wanted Mom to do when we were girls.”  Siobhán   
giggled at her wry comment.  “And if they want to watch a movie, we’ll probably be banished to the   
bedroom.”  
  
The repost slipped out before he thought the better of it.  “Well now, that can’t be all bad.”  
  
“Aww, I did not hear that!”  Siobhán gasped and covered her ears.  
  
Laura’s mouth hung open.  “Mr. Steele!”  
        
“Would anyone like more bread?  I think I’ll pour another glass of wine.  Water, anyone?”  Remington   
fled to the kitchen and busied himself for a moment while Laura and Siobhán’s laughter echoed in the   
dining room.  
  
  
When they calmed, Siobhán started to ask a question, then changed her mind.  Catching it, Laura asked,   
“What is it?”  
  
Siobhan worried a curl of hair, blurting out, “You’re pregnant and you guys still--”  She raised her   
eyebrows in question.  
  
Turning slightly pink, Laura threw her a little sly smile, and the girl covered her face.  “Oh, my God.  I   
don’t think I needed to know that.”  Remington heard the question from the kitchen and decided he   
could come out.  
  
Seeing him over Laura’s head, Siobhán ventured another observation.  “You two really love each other.    
It’s not just for show.”  
  
Remington came up behind Laura as she nodded, placing his hands on her shoulders.  Very seriously, he   
answered, “Yes, Siobhán.  I love Laura ... very much.”  Laura squeezed one of his hands, looking up   
with liquid eyes that touched his core.  The words still came so rarely for him that she was always   
bowled over when they did.  
  
Despite her innocence, Siobhán could still understand the truth of their emotions, if not, perhaps, the   
depth.  Time and maturity would do that for her.  Abruptly deciding that she couldn’t possibly ask   
anything more embarrassing than her previous question, she dug up the courage to ask others that she’d   
wondered about for a while.  “How did you meet?”  
  
Flashing his famous grin, Remington sat at the table again.  “Do you want the real story or the fiction we   
pass around?” he asked.  The Steeles had discussed this very thing weeks ago and decided that they   
wouldn’t hide the truth from Siobhán when she asked.  They needed her trust, and in return, she needed   
to be able to trust them.  
  
“How about … both?”  The teen poked at her salad with a fork.  
  
Laura started the story to give Remington the chance to eat.  “The fiction is that Remington owns the   
agency, and I work for him.  When the agency first started, we explained that Mr. Steele spent his time   
overseas while Murphy and I handled the cases.  If you’ll remember, Murphy and I used to be partners.    
That’s how he and Kate met.  The story goes on that after the first few years, Remington decided to   
become an active member of the agency.  He became a very visible part of the firm, and we developed   
an even better reputation.  A year or so later, Murphy went to Denver to be with Kate, and Mildred   
joined us.  We’ve been working as a team since then.”  
  
Siobhán dropped her hands in her lap as she finished eating.  “So what’s the real story?”  
  
“The real one is that I started the agency by myself and created a fictitious boss named ‘Remington   
Steele.’  I’d opened my own office before then, but at that time, no one took a female private   
investigator very seriously.  So I started a new one with a man’s name on the door--a man who didn’t   
exist except as a figment of my imagination.  And it worked.  The agency grew rapidly after that.    
Murphy and I pulled off the scheme quite well--even renting an apartment, buying clothes and having the   
license plate on the limo read ‘R Steele.’  Then he walked in.”  She nodded toward Remington.  
  
Remington tugged his ear.  “I was only a thief, Siobhán.  I was there to steal the very gems that Laura   
was to protect.  I figured out that her ‘Remington Steele’ was a mere front, and the man didn’t really   
exist.  So I stepped into his shoes and assumed his identity.  I quit being a thief and became a detective   
instead.  The fact that I was quite taken with Laura had a great deal to do with it.”  
  
As only a curious teen can, Siobhán fired questions at him.  “You were a thief?”  
  
“A rather good one,” he said with pride.     
  
“You were never caught?”  
  
“Detained occasionally, but never actually caught.”  
  
“What kind of things did you steal?”  
  
Remington shifted in discomfort at her pointed question.  “Jewelry, paintings, the occasional car--among   
other things.”  He fell silent and continued to eat while Siobhán processed this new information.  
  
She propped her face on her chin and gave Laura a puzzled look.  “Then you just made up his name?”  
  
Laura admitted, “Remington is from a typewriter I owned at the time, and I happen to be a fan of the   
Pittsburgh Steelers.  So, ‘Remington Steele.’  I thought it sounded strong and masculine.  But it was   
more than that, Siobhán.  I created a whole persona for the media.  I told them that my boss was   
handsome, charming, daring, intelligent and a fantastic detective.  He stepped in and made that persona   
real.  He couldn’t have pulled it off if he hadn’t had those qualities already.”  
  
Remington put his hand on Laura’s out of gratitude.  
  
Finally, Siobhan asked in confusion.  “Why does everyone call you ‘Remington’ instead ‘Ciarán’ if it’s   
not your real name?”  
  
He leaned back in his chair, sipping from his glass of wine before answering.  “Remington is my name.    
We had it legally changed just before we married.  Our less illustrious relatives that took me in as a child   
had a tendency to call me by whatever name suited them.  There came a day that I assumed Ciarán was   
just another name they’d used.  After I … got out on my own, I chose my own names.  I suppose most   
of my friends either called me ‘Harry,’ because Daniel did, or ‘Mick.’  I used ‘Michael O’Leary’ in   
Ireland and London quite often, but ‘Mick’ is a common enough nickname for anyone Irish that’s   
traveling about.”  His remote expression and the regret in his voice reflected the pain it still caused him.  
  
Siobhán still didn’t quite understand.  “What was your name before you changed it then?”  
  
“I didn’t have one, Siobhán.  Until shortly before Laura and I married, I had no idea who my parents   
were.  Daniel only told me he was my father a couple of hours before he passed on.  It was days later   
that I saw my birth certificate--and no, it still didn’t have a name on it.”  He rubbed his forehead as if to   
wipe away the memory and added, “The ironic part is that none of us at this table started out as a   
‘Steele.’  But we’ve all become one.  The little tyke bouncing around in Laura’s belly will be the first to   
carry the name from the moment he or she takes breath.  I think we’ve all had our fair share of looking   
around and wondering who was this ‘Steele’ fellow and then thinking ‘oh, that’s me.’ ”  
  
Siobhán lowered her head again to hide her smile because that’s exactly how she had been feeling when   
her teachers called on her at school.  She turned to Laura.  “So, if you made up the name, why were you   
willing to change yours to something that didn’t really exist?”  
  
Remington shot a hard look at his wife, waiting for an answer to a question he’d asked any number of   
times and had yet to receive a decent answer.  
  
Laura looked at their joined hands and then into Rei’s intent blue eyes.  “Because if the name I had   
created meant so much to him that he was willing to take it on permanently, then it only seemed right that   
I take it too.  I’d thought about using Holt-Steele, but by the time we married in Ireland, it felt as if I was   
cheating somehow.  After all, he was changing his name for me; so why shouldn’t I change mine for   
him?”  
  
Remington squeezed her hand and looked away before rising from the table and kissing her temple.    
“Excuse me, ladies.”  He took his glass of wine and headed for the terrace.  
  
“Is he okay?” Siobhán asked, worried.  “I didn’t mean to make him mad.”  
  
Laura reached over and patted her hand.  “You didn’t.  But sometimes all of this--what you and I might   
call a normal life--is still hard for him.  Your cousin had no home, no name and no family for most of his   
life.  He lived from day to day, keeping his sanity by focusing only on the present and not looking to the   
future or the past--which explains why he tends to make the most of each day.  He never works any   
harder than absolutely necessary and loves to ditch work at the drop of a hat to see a movie or to go   
somewhere exotic to take in the scenery.    
  
“But don’t buy his casual demeanor and think he’s lazy.  You’ve seen how incredibly well he cooks.  He   
solves cases the same way.  He complains about my being a workaholic--which undoubtedly I am--but   
he focuses his entire attentions on whatever he is doing at the moment and misses very little.  He’ll never   
admit it to you, I’m certain, but he was a brilliant thief and confounded Interpol for years.  The skills he   
acquired there are much of the reason why our agency does so well.  And it’s only one of the many   
reasons I signed over half the agency to him.  We own it jointly now.”  
  
She reached for her water glass and drank before setting it down to trace patterns on the china.  “When   
we met, I didn’t realize I was giving him a name, a home and a whole life, really.  He was terribly lonely,   
Siobhán.  When he first became a part of the agency, you wouldn’t believe some of the things he would   
do to include himself in my weekend or evening plans.  I remember his inviting himself along on case   
after case and driving Murphy crazy.  Eventually though, we spent most of our time together even when   
we weren’t working.”  Laura smiled a little sadly at Siobhán.  “Mostly, I pretend that I don’t know how   
much it meant to him because he’s embarrassed to admit he needed all those things.  He had survived for   
a very long time without them.”  
  
“Does he have any friends?” Siobhán asked while nibbling a thumbnail.  She hadn’t realized that she’d   
had so much in common with her cousin.  
  
“A few.  And they are good ones.  Remington has a knack for sizing up someone’s personality in   
moments, so the friends he’s made tend to stick.  My family adores him.  No one can charm my mother   
as he can, and all of us get along much better when he’s around.”  Laura placed her napkin on the table.    
“If you’re finished, we can make a run at your homework.”        
  
Siobhán stood and began clearing the table while Laura tackled the kitchen.  The teen looked a little   
downcast, and Laura caught her in a hug, making both of them laugh as the baby bump got in the way.    
“You needed to know, Siobhán.  And we need to know when we can help you.  We’re all learning here.”  
  
For a moment the teen leaned into her embrace.  When she let go, another thought came to mind.  “If   
Remington Steele didn’t exist, then what you did was a lie.”  
  
“A lie, a scam, a con.  A cheap trick.  It was all of those, Siobhán.”  Laura waited, wondering what the   
girl’s reaction was going to be.  “And the joke was on me in the end.  I thought I created someone who   
couldn’t exist.  Not only did I find him, he was a better man than I could ever dream up.”  
  
While Siobhán thought about that, Laura added, “Half of detective work is being able to lie to get the   
information you need.  You saw me do that this summer as I worked on different cases.  The other half   
is being able to see through someone else’s lies and put together the pieces of clues that people leave   
behind.  I can’t lie to Remington any more than he can to me; it’s one of the things that we   
simultaneously love and despise about each other.  And, believe it or not, we’ve already talked about it   
and decided that we won’t lie to you.  If we can’t or won’t tell you the truth about a matter, we’ll tell you   
that.”  
  
“But you could lie to me,” breathed Siobhán.  
  
“Well enough that you would never know that I wasn’t telling the truth,” Laura admitted.  She turned her   
daughter to the foyer.  “Do you see that door?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“When I walk through that door, I don’t have to be anyone but Laura.  No games, no pretenses, no lies.    
I have to have that, Siobhán.  I have to know that the people I love know the real me, faults and all.  It   
took me years to trust Remington--not because he wasn’t willing-- but because I was afraid he would   
discover the real me and decide he didn’t like who I was.”  
  
“How did you start trusting him?” Siobhán wondered.  
  
Laura leaned against the kitchen counter and reflected, “It wasn’t easy.  While we were … dating, I   
suppose you could call it, … Remington ran into problems with U.S. Immigration.  Confronted by the   
very real possibility that he would be deported, I realized that I already loved him and trusted him and   
would do anything necessary to keep him in my life--if that’s what he wanted.  Ultimately, the person I   
didn’t trust was me.”  
  
Siobhán shook her head.  “I don’t really understand.”  
  
Laura smiled and hugged her again.  “That’s okay.  I didn’t either for a very long time.  Why don’t you   
get your homework, and we’ll see how much high school physics I remember?”  
  
  
  
Remington shook off his mood and found Laura and Siobhán painstakingly working their way through a   
physics problem.  Out of curiosity, he peeked at the book and saw the answer immediately.  No, things   
hadn’t changed.  He used to drive his tutor insane by writing down the solution without working out all   
the annoying steps between.  It was probably best to have Laura neatly explaining the logical way of   
finding the answer.  
  
He dribbled the last of the wine from the bottle into his glass and picked up a file he’d brought home.    
Something about it bothered him, and he hadn’t put his finger on why yet.  Perhaps Laura would see it.    
The irony of his actually worrying over a case in the evening wasn’t lost on him.  
  
It should have been a fairly simple skip-trace to run for their client: a daughter, Penny Key, looking for   
her missing father.  The young blonde had asked for Sandra by name and had given a recent client as a   
referral.  Sandra had spent hours combing records for a Percy Key and had been unable to find any trace   
at all of the man.  Apparently, he’d disappeared five years ago or so.  For two weeks now, the young   
woman had stopped by their agency nearly every third day.  This afternoon, Sandra had broken the news   
to the distraught client that they’d been unable to locate any information on her father.  
  
But something about the situation had her instincts hopping.  
  
“There’s something that doesn’t click here, Mr. Steele.  I mean, she’s all prim and proper and seems nice   
but a little off.  She can’t seem to give me any information at all about her dad--just his name and the   
fact that the last time she saw him was five years ago in Los Angeles.”  
  
“What’s the current status of the case?”  He knew it would be the first question Laura would ask.  
  
“I’ve closed it.  But it’s bothering me.  Maybe I missed something.  Would one of you take a look?”  
  
“Of course,” he’d agreed.  He’d poured over the file while in Siobhán’s carpool line and, in the end,   
acknowledged that something wasn’t right.  He’d yet to put a finger on it though.  
  
  
  
Siobhán’s homework took longer than anticipated that evening, and when she said her “goodnights” and   
wandered off to bed, Laura yawned, rubbing at her lower back.  
  
“Aching?” he asked as he locked up the house and turned off most of the lights.  He'd dropped the case   
file on their desk in the home office, intending to have Laura look it over the next day.  
  
“Sitting too long.  The baby has been moving all over the place--probably trying to tell me to get up.”    
She yawned again, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.  “Speaking of which, we have a   
sonogram scheduled for Friday.  The nurse asked if we want to know if we are having a boy or girl.  It's   
a new technique, and it's not a hundred percent accurate, but she said the sonographer is getting pretty   
good at it.  Or do you want it to be a surprise?”  
  
“What do you think?” he asked as he closed their bedroom door.    
  
Laura stretched out on the bed, rolling to her side so she could breathe.  “I’d rather it be a surprise.”  
  
Remington sat next to her and placed his hand on her belly.  “You?  The one who has to control every   
minuscule detail of her life?  One would think you wouldn’t be able to stand the suspense.”  
  
She shrugged.  “Maybe it’s because I can feel the baby moving all the time.  I know he or she is here   
already.”  
  
Thoughtfully, Remington brought his hand to Laura’s face.  With a finger, he drew a lock of her hair to   
the side and tucked it behind her ear.  “What if I wanted to know?”  
  
“Then we’ll find out.”  
  
“That simple, eh?  Hmm.  If you want to wait, I can wait.”  He wouldn’t admit that if she could stand to   
be patient, he’d have to pick up the gauntlet and remain patient too.  He pulled a pillow down to stuff   
behind his head.  “But I do think it’s time we picked a name or two.  Don’t tell me you haven’t been   
thinking about it.”  
  
“Oh, some,” she said lightly.  “I’m not backing down from ‘Humphrey’ though.”  
  
“Well then, I guess we’ll have to start from scratch.  Any thoughts?”  
  
True to Laura’s logical nature, she began listing out points on her hand.  “I suppose the first consideration   
is if we want the baby to carry a family name of any kind--either from your side or mine.  The second,   
does the name have any significant meaning for either of us?  Thirdly, do we like the way it sounds?    
Fourth--”  
  
Remington stopped her with a kiss.  “How about ‘Laura’ if it’s a girl and ‘Remington’ if it’s a boy?”  
  
Laura chuckled softly and shook her head.  “Be serious.  Anyway, I think Frances gave up on my having   
kids when she named Laurie Beth.  So that’s out for a girl.  What about your middle names--Daniel or   
Harrison?”  
  
He rolled to his back again and stared at the ceiling in thought.  “No.  I’m named for my father and   
grandfather, but I don’t have much desire to carry on either name.  Daniel never really claimed me.  I   
claimed him instead.  If we have a son, I think I’d like to start fresh, as you say.”  
  
“Nothing Irish?”  
  
“Maureen O’Sullivan?  Just Imagine, 1930, Fox Film.  Wonderful show about the future.  Or perhaps   
Colin Kenny.  He played bit parts in nearly everything for forty years.  Or maybe William Desmond.  He   
was the Riddle Rider in a great series of silent films.  Fantastic.”  He kept his face straight as he recited   
movies from the top of his head.  
  
Laura rolled her eyes.  “I think I nixed anything from the cinema.”  
  
“But you’re eliminating a wonderful source of names, rife with meaning.”  
  
“Rei?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“No.”  
  
He used his thumb to stroke her chin and cheek.  “Perhaps then, I should persuade you.”  
  
“Perhaps we should talk about it some more.  Where is that book you picked up with all the names in   
it?”  She rolled over to look for it on the nightstand.  
  
He rolled her back to him.  “We’ll look for it in the morning.  Right now, I have some convincing to do.”  
  
“I thought you wanted to pick baby names.  Exactly how do you plan on doing that if you keep getting   
distracted?”  
  
“Hmm.  That’s an interesting question.  But you see, there’s a Jacuzzi in the bathroom--”  
  
She put a hand to his lips.  “Say no more, Mr. Steele.  I’ll meet you there.”

 

 

 

 


	10. Peace

_Friday, 23 September 1988 -- 27 weeks, 1 day  
  
_ On Friday, Remington picked up Siobhán from school.  Nervously, she worried at her thumbnail while   
she sagged into the passenger seat of the Lexus.  He cupped her check, asking, “What’s wrong, _a stór?_ ”  
  
She leaned into his touch, sighing.  “Jennifer and Caitlin are coming over tonight, and I don’t know what   
we’re supposed to do.  Listen to music?  Watch a movie?  Maybe they’ll get bored with me and want to   
go home.  Da?  What do I tell them?”  Her words practically tripped over themselves.  
  
He stuttered, “Ah … ah, hmm.”  He pulled his hand away to reach for the car phone and hand it to her.    
“Call your mother?” he offered wryly.  
  
Rolling her eyes at him, she punched in the number to her mom’s private line at the agency.  
  
“Laura Steele.”  
  
“Mom?”  
  
“Hi, Siobhán.  How was your day, sweetie?”  
  
“Fine, got an ‘A’ on my physics test.  Mom, what am I supposed to do with Jennifer and Caitlin?  I don’t   
want to bore them?  And Da’s no help at all.”  
  
Ignoring her dad’s shake of the head, she heard her mother laugh on the other end of the line.  “We   
picked out a movie yesterday, remember?”  
  
“Yeah, but what _else_ are we going to do?”  Siobhán began twisting a curl of hair.  She really wanted to   
make a good impression on her new friends.  
  
“Well, why don’t you figure out how you want to decorate your new bedroom and bathroom?  The walls   
will be coming down next week, and you’ll be moving into your new rooms the week after that.  Even if   
you don’t like what your friends think, you can still have fun talking about it.  Do you want some   
magazines or books to look through?”  
  
“Oh, that would be totally awesome, Mom.”  Siobhán heaved a sigh of relief and slouched down in the   
seat even further.  
  
“All right, sweetie.  I’ll do that.  I’ll be done before too much longer, and I’ll stop at the bookstore.”  
  
Saying goodbye, she dropped the phone on the cradle.  “Mom’s going to get some decorating books for   
us to look through tonight.”  She leaned back against the seat and watched the cars zip by.  
  
“Decorating books?  What for?” Remington asked.  
  
“So I can pick out what I want for my room.  Is it true?  The walls are coming down next week?”  
  
“Ah, yes, actually.  It’s planned for Wednesday.”     
  
Siobhán played with a strand of hair.  “Is it going to make a big mess?”  
  
“Undoubtedly.”  
  
She heaved a huge sigh.  “Mom’s not going to like that.”  She glanced over to her dad, who gave her a   
funny look.  
  
“What tipped you off?”  He said it with a straight face, but she could see the lurking smile.  
  
“Oh, I don’t know, Da.  Perhaps the way the house is perfectly neat--all the time.”  
  
“I’m neat,” he objected.  
  
“Yeah, but your neatness is because you like the way it looks.  Mom’s is because she can’t stand for   
anything to be out of place.”  
  
  
  
Later, Remington reflected again on Siobhán’s insight.  She continually surprised him with astute   
observations about them.  Perhaps it came from being forced to merely observe others for so long, but in   
any case, Siobhán had yet to peg someone wrong.  Her accuracy matched his own ability to size   
someone up in an instant, leading him to wonder if perhaps they shared a genetic trait rather than a knack   
that was a defense mechanism as Laura speculated.  Then again, Siobhán’s upbringing wasn’t exactly   
filled with happy childhood moments either, albeit not the harsh ones he’d endured.  
  
That evening, at Laura’s suggestion, Remington set out a fruit tray, a plate of chocolate chip cookies and   
a bowl of popcorn in the kitchen.  Fussing over the presentation for several minutes, Laura finally steered   
him out of the room.  
  
“You’re making Siobhán even more nervous, Rei.”  He arched a brow, but noted Siobhán biting her   
thumbnail as she casually paced between the kitchen and her bedroom.  
  
When Jennifer and Caitlin arrived, Siobhán made awkward introductions.  Neither of the girls managed to  
conceal goggling eyes at Mr. Steele.  Remington manfully concealed his grin, amused at the   
uncomfortable foot shifting and shy glances.  The promised pizza arrived at that moment, which the girls   
happily retrieved from the lobby.  Most of it disappeared with the rest of the food into Siobhán’s   
temporary bedroom along with a stack of magazines and books.  When Jennifer and Caitlin found out the   
plans for the evening, shrieks echoed in the penthouse.  
  
Left with half a pizza and two cookies that Remington snitched before the girls made off with the entire   
plate of them, the Steeles headed for the terrace to escape the thumping of the music on the radio and the   
laughter coming from behind the closed bedroom door.  Laura promptly dropped into a chair and opened   
the pizza box.  
  
“Laura?”  
  
“Hmm?”  Busily devouring a large slice, she concentrated on catching the dripping cheese.  
  
Leaning against the rail, he tugged at his ear.  “Pardon my question, for it will seem impertinent, but why   
in bloody hell are you so calm about everything?”  
  
Laura nearly choked on the bite she had in her mouth as she snorted.  “What?”  
  
He frowned at her reaction, somewhat annoyed at her levity.  He tried to explain, “Love, you’re six   
months pregnant; we have a new teenaged daughter in the house with all that entails; we’re renovating   
the apartment, and both of us are still working full-time in the agency.  We haven’t finished the nursery   
either here or at the office, and you don’t want to know what we’re having.  Bugger me, Laura, is   
someone slipping you Valium while I’m not looking?”  
  
She recovered with a large drink of water, but her face was pink with delight.  Rising from her chair, she   
laid her hands on his chest.  “You really don’t know?”  She gave him that wide, confident smile he loved.  
  
Shifting from foot to foot, he stuffed his hands into his pocket before shaking his head.  
  
“I’m happy, Remington.  Extraordinarily happy.  The renovations are coming along.  When the nursery is   
ready to decorate, we’ll do both this one and the office at the same time.  Frances will want to help, I’m   
certain.  So will Siobhán.  Kate’s already given me a list of ideas.  Siobhán is a wonderful girl.  How   
could anyone not love her?  And do you know what else?”  He shook his head.  “I’m happy because I   
have you.  I didn’t think I would find someone to love that would treat me as an equal in everything we   
do.  I’m pregnant, and you still don’t coddle me--even though I know it annoys you not to do so.”  She   
took his hands then.  “I love you.”  
  
Remington could only tug her to him and lay his cheek against her hair, wondering how long it would last.

 

 

 


	11. Rounding Third

_Thursday, 29 September 1988 -- 28 weeks, 0 days  
  
_ Having been down this road three times, Donald could have told him.  
  
The unnatural peace lasted exactly six more days.  That’s when the walls between the penthouse and the   
new addition came down, and Laura entered into her third trimester.  On the same day, the baby   
discovered that Laura’s bladder was a great place to rest a weary head, and after at least twenty trips to   
the bathroom--half of which accomplished exactly nothing--her temper hung by a gossamer thread.  
  
But she’d stayed determinedly happy until she came home to find a layer of dust on every surface of the   
apartment, Siobhán sprawled out in the living room with remnants of an afternoon snack of popcorn   
scattered everywhere, and Remington unseen for half a day.  Ostensibly, he was with a client, but she   
just knew he’d caught the Lauren Bacall retrospective at the cinema that afternoon while she fielded   
questions from an attorney about a sting operation she and Remington were setting up to catch an   
employee suspected of leaking proprietary information in a software company.    
  
As soon as the foyer doors opened, the head contractor had a dozen pressing questions that only her   
missing husband could answer.  Laura stalked to the phone and paged him.  Twice.  And then a third   
time.  When his Lordship deigned to return her call, her rant shocked Siobhán and scared the contractors   
into packing up for the day.  
  
  
  
The fact that Remington arrived an hour later cheerfully content that the Laura he knew and adored was   
back and in fine form didn’t help matters.  She verbally attacked him the moment he zipped through the   
door.  
  
Armed with ready wit and his most amiable smile, he walked on sure ground now.  He packed Laura off   
to the bathtub to relax with a steaming cup of tea while assuring her that he would deal with the   
contractors personally.  
  
“Stop charming me,” she muttered as she stepped into the Jacuzzi.  
  
He didn’t have three decades of experience in handling the opposite sex for nothing, more than six years   
of them specifically with Laura.  “Of course not, love.  I’m simply making up for my earlier negligence.”    
Laura narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously as she sank down into the bubbles.  
  
  
  
When he returned from their bedroom, he caught Siobhán’s worry.  “I suppose you haven’t seen Laura   
in a temper.”  She shook her head, and he grinned in return.  “You were correct on Friday, _a stór_.  Our   
grace period is over.  She has a good one.  Mostly, it’s directed at me, and I expect we’ll see much more   
of it in the coming days.  Laura doesn’t take well to being told she can’t do something--and I rather think   
this baby is about to insist on having his or her way with things.”  
  
“So why was she so upset when she came home?”  Siobhán’s soft voice was full of hesitance and a   
touch of fear.  
  
Abruptly reminded that Siobhán had little experience with these kinds of emotions, Remington settled her  
too with a quick hug and a kiss to the top of her head.  Then he tilted her chin up and spoke in Gaelic.    
The language they shared had become another way they connected as family, speaking it nearly   
exclusively when Laura wasn’t around.  “It’s no more than a fit of pique, Siobhán.  She gets upset, yells   
at me; we talk, and then it’s over.  Sometimes I even shout back a time or two.  But, _a stór_ , neither of us   
can stand to be at odds with each other for long.”  
  
Sitting on the edge of the sofa so he wouldn’t have to look down at her, he clasped his hands in his lap   
and switched back to English.  “Today?  I wasn’t at the office this afternoon.  Wasn’t planning to be and   
she forgot.  The baby is making her trip off to the bathroom every five minutes, and she’s irritated about   
it--but, of course she won’t blame our lovely wee one--so instead she gets mad at me.  It’s easier.”  
  
Siobhán crossed her arms.  “She’s upset at the baby?”  
  
“Not really.  It’s more that the pregnancy is making her irritable.  Laura likes to be in control, and the   
baby isn’t letting her call all the shots.  I suspect I’ll have a lot of placating to do in the coming weeks as   
she learns to adjust.”  He rubbed the back of his neck and grinned again.  “It’s not all that unlike when   
we first met, and she had to make room for me.  She didn’t like that either, but she wasn’t willing to let   
me go.  So we sparred a great deal in the process.”        
  
He hadn’t come up with these brilliant insights all on his own, but he wasn’t about to tell Siobhán that   
he'd made a discrete phone call to Murphy from the car on the way home from the theatre.  After his   
brother-in-law had stopped laughing at him, he’d proceeded to give him a laundry list of things to look   
out for in the upcoming days.  “Her job is to be pregnant, Steele.  She’s cranky, irritable and will blame   
absolutely every bit of it on you.  Up until now, it was funny that you two got pregnant so quickly.  Now   
she’s going to hold it, and anything else she can dream up, against you.  Your job is to make her feel   
better.  Time to suck it up, Steele, and take whatever she dishes out.”  
  
Isn’t that what I’ve been doing all along? he wondered.  But keeping the advice firmly in mind, he   
ordered one of her favorites--Chinese from the restaurant down the street.  Then he and Siobhán made a   
quick dash through the penthouse to clean up the worst of the dust while they waited.  When the food   
arrived, he sent Siobhán down the elevator with money to pay the delivery boy.  
  
In the meantime, Remington peeked into the bathroom.  Laura grimaced as she attempted to leave the   
whirlpool.  “Getting in is easier than getting out,” she said.  
  
  
He schooled his expression so she wouldn’t think he was laughing at her, but she didn’t miss amusement   
in his blue eyes and scowled in his direction as she took his proffered hand and gingerly stepped from the   
tub.  
  
“Feel better?”  
  
Pursing her lips, she looked up at the ceiling and then at him while he draped a towel around her.  “I do.    
I’m sorry.  I don’t know what got into me.  I forgot you were going to the movies.”  
  
“I did try yesterday to convince you to go with me,” he reminded her.  
  
“I know; I know.  It completely slipped my mind.  I can’t keep anything in my head these days.  It’s   
driving me crazy.”  
  
“You’re pregnant, Laura.  Even your doctor said these things would happen, love.”  
  
“I know,” she said again while retrieving a loose-fitting shirt and similar pants from the closet.  When she   
was dressed, she put a hand on her hip and another on her forehead.  “Promise me something, though.”  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
“Don’t make me deal with the contractors.  You spoiled me by handling the build-out on the new office.    
I don’t ever want to deal with contractors again.”  
  
Remington reached over to let the water out of the Jacuzzi.  “Why not?  You scared them into fits   
today.  I’m sure they’ll do anything you want now, if only because they want to avoid another   
confrontation with a pregnant woman dressing them down as if they were schoolboys in short pants.”  
  
Laura covered her eyes and snorted.  “I didn’t really do that, did I?”  
  
“Juan offered a five-hundred-dollar credit if he can deal only with me in the future.  What should I tell   
him?”  
  
She burst out laughing, holding on to her belly.  “Hold me in reserve if it doesn’t look as if they’ll finish   
by Thanksgiving.”  
  
“I’ll do that.  It will make a rather effective threat.”  
  
  
  
By the time they made it back to the kitchen, Siobhán had Chinese food spread across the island and was   
nibbling on an eggroll.  It took only one look for Laura to realize she’d frightened the girl with her   
temper.  She didn’t want Siobhán to feel as if she had to walk on eggshells around her.  The teen was   
settling in beautifully, given the circumstances, but Laura could see that at her core Siobhán still feared   
being sent away.  
  
Laura took her hand.  “Siobhán, I’m sorry for yelling at you.  I shouldn’t have.”  
  
“It’s … it’s okay.  Da … explained it to me.”  
  
“No, Siobhán, it’s not okay.  I scared you.  Sweetie, we’re a family.  Which means it’s okay to not like   
everything I do.  And you can tell me.  Remington tells me all the time when he’s had enough of me.    
Just as I do him.  I still love him.  Just as I’ve come to love you.”  Laura tugged Siobhán to her so that   
she could put her arms around the tall teen.    
  
Reminding Siobhan that the adoption papers had been finalized, she said, “It’s official, remember?        
We’re a family.  You can get mad at me or I at you, and we will still be okay.”  Siobhán’s expression   
lightened, and she took a deep breath before nodding in agreement.  
  
From behind Laura, Remington remarked drolly, “Good Lord, Laura, are we beginning to act like mature   
adults?  I’m disappointed with you.  You’re eliminating an excellent source of amusement for me.”  
  
She turned.  “How so?”  
  
“How can I pick on you if you’re being sensible?”  
  
She arched a brow at him.  “Oh, I don’t know, Mr. Steele; it seems that you’ve picked on my   
sensibilities any number of times.  It’s the irresponsible portion of your personality coming out.”  
  
“Ah, that.  Hmm.  You know, since Siobhán has come, we haven’t been nearly irresponsible enough.    
What do you have going on at school tomorrow, _a stór_?”  
  
Grey eyes flickered between devious blue ones and resigned brown eyes.  “Ah, nothing much.  I have a   
paper due Tuesday but just classes tomorrow.”  
  
“No tests?” he asked to make certain.  
  
“No.  We had a pop quiz today, so we won’t have one tomorrow.”  
  
“Excellent.”  He pressed a hand to Siobhán’s cheek.  “Oh, my dear girl, I’m sorry to tell you that you   
have a slight fever and won’t be at school tomorrow.  Yes, yes, I see it’s about--what would you say,   
Laura, love--one hundred?”  
  
Shaking her head at his audacity, Laura agreed, “I think so, Mr. Steele.  She certainly seems rather pale   
to me.”  
  
“My thoughts exactly.  Eat up, girls.  We’ll be in Catalina by midnight.”  He nicked an eggroll from the   
plate and strolled off to make a series of phone calls.  Laura shrugged in response to Siobhán’s   
questioning look and began loading her plate with food.  
  
  
  
Siobhán’s eyes widened at the helicopter that would take them to the little island.  Gracefully, she   
climbed in and took her seat.  Johnny had flown her several times in the one he owned.  She loved the   
sensation of dancing along on the air.  
  
Laura sagged onto the seat next to her with a huff before Remington strapped her in, deftly making   
adjustments to the harness across her lap.  He checked Siobhán’s and raised his eyebrows at the secure   
straps.  “Flown before?”  
  
She nodded happily.  “Johnny wouldn’t let me fly on anything but his private airplane and helicopter.”  
  
He touched her cheek and settled into his own seat for the fifteen-minute flight.     
  
Siobhán felt enormously guilty for skipping school on Friday but admirably dealt with it by sleeping in.    
She walked the beach mid-morning with her parents, picking up shells for keepsakes and tucking them   
into pockets that eventually overflowed.  At the end of the short walk, she turned around, squinting into   
the sun to see them trailing along behind her and holding hands.  They were obviously amused over   
something.  Da held up his hand, motioning her to come to them.  
  
“We wondered if you were going to walk the whole bloody island,” he said as she approached.  
  
Siobhán put her hands on her hips.  She’d learned not to take Da’s quips seriously.  “It's too rocky.    
Having trouble keeping up?”  
  
Mom let out a laugh.  “Rei, I think she’s learning to not fall for your charm.”  
  
He scratched his nose.  “Then she’ll be one over you.”  
  
Pretending to be affronted, Mom kicked water onto Da’s shins while Siobhán chuckled and took his   
outstretched hand.  
  
  
  
Remington arranged for them to have lunch on a chartered boat where they were lucky enough to see a   
pair of enormous blue whales as they swam along in the Pacific.  While Laura dozed in a deck chair   
afterward, worn out from the morning walk, he leaned on the rail next to Siobhán.  Her light brown curls   
tangled in the breeze.  
  
“ _A stó_ r, perhaps I’ve pestered you one too many times on this subject, but I have to know.  Are you   
happy here?”  
  
She smiled at his question; it wasn’t the first time he’d asked.  “I am.  You guys are pretty cool.  Are you   
okay with me?”  
  
He grinned at the American slang peppering her speech now.  “ _A stór_ , it’s not as if you’re a difficult kid.    
You’re quite bright, lovely to look at and have excellent manners.  In that way, you’re a great deal like   
Laura.  In addition, you do your homework, help me cook and clean up your own messes.  As far as I’m   
concerned, we’re good.”  
  
“Okay, then how about we negotiate an allowance?” she ventured with a gleam in her eye.  
  
Unfazed, Remington shot back, “How about you ask your mother.”  
  
Siobhán tried another tactic.  “Why do you always shift those questions to her?  I thought you guys had a   
partnership?”  
  
His blue eyes twinkling, he answered, “One of the hallmarks of an excellent partnership is knowing the   
strengths of each party.  As I have no experience at all with the concept of an allowance, I will defer  
to--or at least confer with--Laura before I make an executive decision of such magnitude.”    
  
Siobhán chewed on a lock of hair.  Remington reached over to tuck the strand behind her ear.  At his   
touch she turned abruptly, giving him a hard hug and holding on as if she were about to fall from the    
ship’s deck.  He nearly lost his balance but recovered to close his arms about her.  
  
Used to Laura’s mercurial moods, he automatically shifted mental gears to deal with Siobhán.  Her   
shoulders began shaking as she cried in his embrace.  Gaelic words began tumbling from her as she   
described her guilt over loving her new life at Johnny’s expense, how much she liked living with him and   
Laura, and how awful she felt about intruding on them when they were expecting a baby.  
  
Startled by the outburst but not surprised by it, Remington held her until she began to calm.  
  
“Shh, shh, _a stór._  Listen to me.”  He tilted her chin up to kiss her on the forehead.  “Johnny made his   
own choices.  You and I have paid the price for a number of those choices.  I think perhaps, that finding   
a little happiness is fair recompense for what we’ve endured.”  
  
Siobhán’s gray eyes opened, framed by spiky wet lashes.  He stroked her hair.  “Johnny owes both of   
us, and I think he knew it.  Giving you to me was his way of making it up to the pair of us.  And I, for   
one, am extraordinarily grateful.”  He leaned her head against his shoulder and patted her on the back.     
“I’ll hear no more of this about the baby.  Laura and I agreed we wanted a family.  Laura herself said   
that it didn’t matter whether we had an infant or a teen.  So now, we’ll have both.”  
  
Siobhán stared at him.  “Why are you being so cool about it all?”  
  
 _Why indeed?_  Perhaps now, he understood Laura’s calm acceptance of the changes.  He twitched his   
eyebrows.  “Who wouldn’t want to be surrounded by beautiful women all of the time?  I’m adding to my   
collection.”  
  
“Da!”  
  
“Siobhán.  Call it kismet.  My walking into Laura’s life was no different.  It shouldn’t have happened.  It   
certainly shouldn’t have turned out like this.  But for whatever the reason, I’m damned grateful.  You, a   
stór, are kismet.  Want to know why I call you _‘a stór_ ’?”  She nodded.  “Because a treasure is often   
something unexpected.  When you find a box, you might have an idea of what’s inside, but you never   
really know until it’s opened.  You are our unexpected treasure.”      
  
Shuddering another sob, Siobhán leaned against him to let his words soak in while his arms cradled her.    
Remington’s idle thought had little to do with his daughter’s outburst.  Having finally understood what it   
meant to be in love with Laura, it didn’t take him nearly as long to comprehend how much he already   
loved Siobhán and his unborn child.  
  
Over Siobhán’s head, he took in Laura as she napped on the lounger, curled up on her side with a hand   
splayed over her rounded belly.   _Daniel, I wish you were here to see this.  It’s worth it.  Any price, any  
at all.  
  
_Siobhán stayed curled in his arms until the boat began to dock; then together they roused Laura to   
disembark as a family.  
  
  
  
After dinner, they found the local cinema and suffered through Alien Nation, which Siobhán liked and   
Remington panned.  Laura insisted on being a disinterested third-party as she listened to the pair debate   
the merits of the movie.  
  
“Now, when George hung from the helicopter, the rotors would whip up a positive storm of sea water   
which would burn him,” Remington pointed out.     
  
“It’s a movie.  A good one with relevance for today’s society,” Siobhán retorted.  
  
“Yes, but a good film must be consistent with the details.”  
  
Laura only sighed as the pair bantered for the rest of dinner.  
  
  
  
Much later, when the Steeles made love that night, there was a great deal of amusement involved as they   
struggled through the mechanics of making all the pieces fit properly.  Never let it be said that either   
Laura or Remington backed away from a challenge.  
  
  
  
On Saturday morning, the family played in the surf.  It didn’t take long before Laura sat down at the   
water’s edge to rest.  Remington dropped down beside her while Siobhán continued to dance in and out   
of the waves.  
  
“Are you all right, love?” he asked worriedly.  
  
“I am.  The baby is moving around a great deal.  It’s distracting.”  She reached for his hand and placed it   
on her belly.  “I think that’s a foot, but I’m not sure.”  The slight bulge visibly moved under her swimsuit.  
  
“Alien, Sigourney Weaver, Twentieth Century Fox, 1979,” he marveled before leaning over and giving   
the little bump a kiss while she rolled her eyes at the comparison.  
  
She couldn’t resist running her hands through Remington’s black locks as he nuzzled her belly.  He   
looked up and shifted to capture her mouth in a scorching kiss.  When he lifted his lips from hers, his   
eyes had deepened to nearly indigo.  
  
“Is that all you guys do?” Siobhán asked from the water.  
  
Remington started to retort, but Laura clapped a hand over his mouth.  “No.  Don’t say it.  She’s only   
fifteen, remember?”  
  
He kissed her palm as he pulled her hand away.  “Why, Laura, are you implying that I might say   
something inappropriate?”  
  
“You usually do.”  
  
“Such a lack of faith.”  
  
“Such familiarity with the way you think.”  
  
He grinned.  “Ah, Laura, only you.”  With that puzzling comment, he stood and pulled her to her feet.    
Turning, he called, “Come on, Siobhán.  Laura’s hungry again.”  
  
Drawing her brows together, she asked, “How did you know?”  
  
Dropping an arm around her, he quipped, “Such familiarity with you, love.”  
  
That afternoon while Laura napped, Remington set Siobhán up for a two-hour lesson in the hotel pool   
with what turned out to be a cute blonde scuba instructor in his early twenties.    
  
Remington discovered that the uncomfortable chair under the poolside umbrella was a great place to   
enjoy a drink.  
  
  
  
  
When Siobhán returned to school, her friends greeted her with expressions of sympathy for her “illness,”   
which turned to ones of envy as she told them where she’d spent part of the weekend.  
  
“Ya know, Shiv, you’ve got the coolest parents,” Jennifer told her.  “My mom would never do   
something like that.”  
  
Caitlin nodded.  “Yeah, and your dad is sooooo hot.  In an older man kind of way.  And his cookies, oh   
my God, they’re like, totally amazing.”  
  
Giggling, Siobhán agreed with a toss of her curls.  “For sure, they’re totally awesome.”  She wasn’t   
referring to the cookies.  
  


 

 


	12. Cribs

_Monday, 3 October 1988 -- 27 weeks, 4 days  
  
_ As Laura drove to the agency after dropping off Siobhán at school on Monday, she realized that the short   
vacation had clarified two issues for her.  
  
First, she had very much enjoyed her time with Remington and Siobhán.  Ireland hadn’t been the idyllic   
vacation she and Remington had planned, and the months since had held their own share of difficulties.    
The trip to Catalina was truly the first time since that they’d taken the time to relax.  Having Siobhán   
along now seemed only natural.  The three of them had enjoyed a wonderful time together.  
  
The suite that Remington had booked in Catalina gave them privacy without making Siobhán feel   
uncomfortable or alone.  Laura reflected again that Remington didn’t seem to mind confining their   
dalliances to the bedroom.  After the wanton nature of their first two years of marriage, she’d been a little   
concerned that he would come to resent Siobhán’s constant presence.      
  
But true to his nature, he’d only viewed it as a challenge of a different sort, and she realized she should   
have expected it.  Laura rediscovered his knack for knowing exactly where to lay his fingers or a chaste   
kiss to elicit a rush of desire from her.  She still wasn’t quite sure how he did it.  Last night as she dried   
the dishes, he merely grazed the back of her neck with warm lips, chasing it with a single finger across   
the moistened skin.  Her quick inhalation told him all he needed to know, and he’d sauntered out of the   
kitchen with a gleam and a wink.  Siobhán missed the entire exchange from her place at the island where   
she fretted over her government paper.  
  
The ensuing evening had been … memorable.  Shaking her head, she knew she had to wipe the silly   
blush off her face before opening the office door or Mildred, and probably Ian, would have her pegged in   
seconds.  
  
She sobered as she thought of the agency.  She hadn’t talked to Remington about her concerns yet, but   
the trip had clarified those issues too for her.  Blowing out her breath, she wondered how to make light of   
the changes that were coming.  This would be her last month for working outside the office for a while.    
By seven months, her doctor insisted she give up the legwork.  Laura still thought it was overprotective,   
but she’d seen the relief in Remington’s face when he heard the doctor’s orders, and she’d found it   
impossible to argue.  In two days, she would take on her last undercover assignment. She would continue   
to meet with clients in the office and selected ones out of the office, but the other detectives would pick   
up the investigations after she culled the initial information from the client.     
  
Perhaps as a holdover from the early days of the agency, where she'd had to scrape up every last penny   
to make sure the bills were paid, Laura found it difficult to turn away clients even when their books were   
full.  These days, it wasn’t unusual for a new client to have to wait a day or two before meeting with   
Laura.  She wondered how much business they would lose while she worked an abbreviated schedule.  
  
Fretting over it, she pulled the car into the garage and headed up to the agency.  
  
  
  
The case they'd taken on bordered more on boring than interesting.  Laura was posing as a temporary   
secretary beginning on a Thursday.  That day, Friday and Monday, she'd generated a mound of letters   
and filed papers in addition to answering the telephone.  Most of the time, this kind of undercover work   
didn’t bother her; she used her free moments to read proprietary manuals and study up on the latest   
technologies of whatever industry she was investigating.  
  
By Tuesday though, she'd decided her obstetrician was kidding herself if she thought Laura was going to   
do little more than hang out in the office for the next two and half months.  Her back ached from sitting   
in a chair all day; her swollen feet hardly fit into her shoes; and the baby kicked until she got up and   
moved around.  
  
Fortunately for her sanity, on Wednesday morning the employee in question--her “boss” at the moment--   
took a suspicious phone call.  The caller was one of the names Laura had memorized as being a   
competitor to this firm.  As soon as her temporary boss left the office, Laura called Kaleb on the Rabbit’s   
car phone.  He’d been parked outside the building since Thursday, twiddling his thumbs and working   
crosswords in sheer boredom.  Happy to have something to do, he tailed the suspect to the meeting and   
began snapping photos on the sly.  
  
      Carter called both Remington and Laura with the news in carefully coded wording before having the   
photos developed.  Just after three in the afternoon, Remington arrived with their client, photos in hand.    
  
  
Laura’s “boss” protested heartily at the accusations until he saw the pictures.  Not a stupid man, it didn’t   
take him long to put two and two together to realize that Laura was the undercover operator.  In his fury,   
he lunged toward her desk, but Remington neatly tripped him up and forced him to the ground while   
Laura danced back, well away from the action.  
  
What started as an internal civil issue to the company became a criminal charge with that move.  The   
police were called to escort Laura’s “boss” to jail.  
  
Remington said nothing about the incident itself, but that night he pulled her into his lap on the couch to   
hold her for the longest time.  
  
  
  
  
Siobhán spent the following weekend decorating her new bedroom and bathroom in a snazzy black and   
white motif punched up by electric blue and shocking pink accents.  She filled the walls with posters of   
her favorite bands.  Books and magazines covered the new white desk.  
  
On that windy Sunday afternoon in late October, while Remington moved the last of Siobhán’s things   
into her new room, Frances brought her two girls along while she and Laura decided on how to decorate   
the nursery.  Mindy and Laurie Beth sprawled out on the floor of Siobhán’s bedroom flipping through   
teen magazines, eating more of Unca Remy’s cookies while something by U2 thumped on the new CD   
player.  
  
Laura and Frances wandered through the new rooms.  Frances admired the workout space and playroom   
as her sister explained what still had to be done in the renovation.  “The demolition of the bathroom is   
almost done, and the flooring in the main part of the apartment hasn’t been started yet.  Otherwise, it’s   
nearly complete.  I really want it all to be done by Thanksgiving,” Laura said in a loud voice as her   
husband tried to slip into the old guest room unnoticed.  Remington visibly ducked as he heard her   
comment.  
  
“But you still have to decorate the baby’s room,” Frances said as they surveyed the plain white walls of   
the nursery-to-be.  “I still can’t believe you are waiting to find out what you’re having.  How can you   
stand it?  Even I had to know so that I could get everything ready.”  
  
Ignoring her, Laura idly paged through a book of decorating ideas.  “What do you think of this?”  She   
held up the book.  
  
Her sister pushed it down.  “Laura!”  
  
Laura grinned.  “Not knowing is driving Remington crazy.”  In reality, she was just as eager to know if   
they were having a boy or a girl, but keeping her partner on the edge of his seat was nearly as satisfying   
as knowing.  “Besides, it’s keeping him guessing on names.  As long as we don’t know, he can’t settle on   
any one thing.”  
  
“You mean you two don’t have names picked out either?”  Astonished, Frances wondered where her   
control-freak sister had gone.  
  
Laura shook her head.  “Not yet.”  
  
Throwing her hands in the air, Frances yanked the book out of her sister’s hands.  “No names, no sex,   
no nursery, and you’re due in ten weeks.  What are you looking--oh, Laura, that’s adorable!” she   
squealed.  “A circus theme.  That’s perfect for you two.  You’ve always loved the circus, and didn’t   
Remington tell me he worked in one for a while?”  
  
“As a fire breather.  Okay, Frances, how do we do this?”  
  
“Well, we’ll start with circus colors--red, white and yellow for your base colors.  Since you have the   
white, we’ll just add wide red stripes maybe?  Or a whole accent wall?  Do you have a measuring tape?”  
  
  
Laura listened as her sister eagerly demonstrated how the paint, rugs and curtains should look.  When   
Remington popped his head around the corner, he found Laura writing notes in the margins of the book   
with a pencil.  
  
“Oh, we need to go get paint chips.  And we need to pick out furniture--white furniture to go with the   
theme.  And you’ll need to pick out bedding.”  Frances’ head was already buzzing with ideas for the   
surprise baby shower she and Kate were planning for Thanksgiving week.  
  
Remington leaned against the door frame as he overheard their conversation.  “Ah, paint?  Did you   
actually get Laura to pick out paint?  What are we doing in here?”    
  
Laura handed him the book, and he pondered it for a while. When the silence stretched too long, she   
asked, “What do you think?”  
  
With a little flick of his eyebrows, he pressed a kiss to her cheek.  “I’ll be back.”  Laura raised her hands   
in confusion at Frances’ quizzical expression.  She went back to making a list of things her sister insisted   
she had to have.  A few minutes later, Remington returned with the fantastic musical carousel that had   
been given to them years ago for solving a case.  Practicing trapeze work and flying through the air with   
Laura in those days was one of his favorite memories.  
  
He set it on the floor, and Frances touched it gingerly to start the music.  As twinkling sounds filled the   
unfinished room, Remington borrowed Laura’s pencil and began sketching broad outlines directly on the   
walls.  The sisters watched--Frances in amazement and Laura in delight--as comical elephants began   
trampling through the room, topped by silly clowns dancing on their backs.  In one corner, tigers stacked   
vertically on top of each other.  Little monkeys climbed up a ladder in another.  
  
Stepping back, he added, “I can put in a couple of trapeze artists if you’d like?”  
  
Amused at the scheme he’d created, Laura quipped, “If you have time, you mean?  You’re going to paint   
all this before Thanksgiving?”  
  
“Of course not, Laura.  That’s why we hired Juan and his crew.  If I sketch it, he’s got a nephew who   
can paint it.”    
  
“Of course,” she echoed.  
  
  
  
  
Days later, red stripes graced the walls, and those little creatures came alive to romp around the nursery   
waiting for its new tenant.  
  
  
  
  
“Slide that big one into place,” Laura murmured.  
  
“Like this?”  
  
“Oh, yeah, just like that,” she said with a slight groan.  
  
“Then what do you want me to do?”  
  
“Just give it a shove.  Ouch!”  
  
“Sorry, love.  I thought you wanted it there.”  
  
“I do, I do … I just wasn’t ready.”  
  
“Laura, how are we supposed to build this crib if you can’t hold up your end?”  
  
Glaring at him, she rubbed her elbow where it had banged into the wall.  “Fine.  You try turning that   
miniscule hex wrench with your hand jammed between the slats.”  
  
He eyed her position on the ground and decided it would be too hard to change places with her.  “Let’s   
try it again.”  
  
This time, the railing sat squarely on the screw.  Laura twirled the tiny wrench to tighten it down.  She   
sat against the wall with a sigh of relief.  Now she only had to support the one end while Remington   
made short work of assembling the rest of the crib.  
  
“Care to do the honors?” he asked as he waved to the side rail just begging to be dropped down.  
  
Her eyes lit up.  She took his hands, and he groaned comically as he pulled her up.  Snatching a pillow   
from the pile of fabric on the chair, she swatted him.  “I’m not THAT huge.”  
  
He looked her up and down, musing, “Hmm, Murphy told me the answer to this question.  No, of course   
not, love.”  
  
Letting out an exclamation of frustration, she pretended to throttle him, but he neatly stepped into her   
embrace so he could brush her lips with his.  As her belly pressed hard against his stomach, he could feel   
the baby kicking in protest.  The thrill of it skittered into his heart, making it dance.  “You’re beautiful,   
Laura.  Lovely.”  
  
“Stop charming me,” she retorted as she melted into him.  
  
“Ah, but it’s one of the very things you adore about me. ...  No, don’t hide your smile.  I saw that.”  He   
caressed her cheek with a thumb.  
  
“I seem to be shaking my head at you a great deal lately.”  
  
“Only because you know I’m right.”  He landed another kiss on her lips before she turned away to play   
with the crib railing.  
  
“Nice job, Mr. Steele.”  
  
“Well, you see, I have this very able-bodied associate.”  
  
“Associate?” she chided.  
  
“Partner,” he corrected.  
  
Laura reached for the mattress, but he beat her to it and lifted it over the side of the crib.  Together they   
arranged the sheet and bumper pads.  She hung the blanket on the rail while Remington assembled the   
mobile and attached it to the crib.  When they were done, little monkeys, giraffes and elephants rioted   
across the bedding.  
  
Remington felt a smidgen of guilt over assembling the nursery at the agency without Siobhán, but she’d   
wanted to spend the weekend at Ms. Mildred’s and didn’t seem to mind.  Earlier that week, two of     
Juan’s men appeared at the agency to tint the walls of the safe room a hazy yellow.  Since then, Laura   
had talked only of getting the little room converted for the baby.  
  
  
Unconsciously, he chewed on his thumbnail while Laura sorted through old circus posters she’d found in   
an antique shop. Alone with Laura, he thought this might be a good chance to ask her a few tough   
questions.  He’d noticed in the past few weeks that she danced around certain topics.  Fully expecting   
careful sidestepping with friends and family, he’d been surprised when she’d done the same with him.  
  
Taking care to start off on the right foot and with an easy question, he called her name, “Laura?”  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“What was so special about this weekend that you wanted to get this nursery done so quickly?”  
  
Pursing her lips, she tilted her head to the side.  “Oh, I don’t know.  Maybe it’s because my sisters and   
Mother have something up their sleeves about a baby shower.  I’m sure they’ll have our nursery at home   
outfitted by the time they are done.  I wanted this for us.”  
  
He grinned.  “And you wanted it first.”   _Never say she misses a trick.  
  
_ She copied his expression and handed him a nail.  “Rei, you know me entirely too well.  Besides, this   
agency is … ours.”  
  
Catching the hesitation on the last word, he chased it with his first tough question while hammering the   
nail where she indicated.  “Laura, why do I get the feeling that the agency is still more of a home to you   
than the penthouse?”  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the faint irritation cross her face and the way she drew in her breath   
to retort … then slowly let it out.  “I don’t know.  I hadn’t thought about it that way.  It’s not more of a   
home but maybe as much of one.”  
  
Surprised by her outright admission, he stated, “A great deal of your identity is wrapped up in the   
agency.”  
  
“True,” she answered without thinking, then realized what she’d said.  “It is true.  Now why does that   
surprise me?  And why does it occur to me that your identity has nothing to do with the agency?”  
  
 _Really, Laura?  Six years and you’ve just figured that out?_  “Because without the agency, I’d survive.”  
  
Thoughtfully lowering herself into the rocking chair, she leaned back and scratched her belly.  “That’s   
twice you’ve brought up something along those lines.  What’s on your mind, Rei?”  
  
He rubbed the back of his neck, leaning against the wall as he sorted through his words to find ones that   
wouldn’t needle his wife.  He had her full attention and needed to be careful.  Most of the time their   
retorts and ripostes were strictly a game they played, but the habit could--and had, at times--turn into   
bitter arguments.  He didn’t want that now and knew he had to tread carefully in this conversation.  
  
  
“I worry, Laura.  I worry that when you find yourself torn between your child and the agency, you’ll be   
angry with yourself, regardless of what choice you make.  In a way, the agency is your first baby.       
You’ve nurtured it and cared for it all these years.”  
  
“But it can’t come first anymore; is that what you are trying to say?”  
  
He knew he walked a thin line here.  “Actually, no.  I understand that the agency provides our living,   
Laura.  We can’t simply abandon it now that we have family.”  He touched the picture he’d hung to   
move it a fraction to the left.  
  
“We haven’t seemed to have any difficulties with Siobhán,” she offered.  
  
“No, but Siobhán has spent quite a few afternoons and evenings at the office or alone at home while we   
work a case.  More than I like,” he admitted.  
  
Laura crossed her arms.  “You’re exaggerating.  She’s had a handful of afternoons after school, which   
isn’t unreasonable for a fifteen-year-old, and the occasional evening in the office isn’t going to scar her   
for life.  Most of the time she does homework at my desk anyway.”  She paused and eyed him   
thoughtfully.  “Remington, I understand that our lives are about to be very different.  Having Siobhán   
with us has made that point crystal clear.”  
  
Still unsatisfied with her answers, he touched his lips before asking again.  She’d been silent on the   
subject of working for too long.  “How are we to make this work, Laura?  We haven’t even discussed   
how long you’re planning to stay home.”  
  
She eyeballed him suspiciously but answered.  “I’m planning to be gone for the whole of January.  I’ve   
blocked out both of our calendars with Ian.  I’m anticipating that we’ll get the occasional call that one of   
us will have to handle.  Quite frankly, I think it’s going to land on you to deal with them.  After January,   
or when I can’t stand it anymore--and your guess is as good as mine as to how soon that will happen--I’ll   
pack up our newest Steele and bring him or her to the office.”  
  
He nodded in agreement; that answer was more than he’d expected.  “What about after that?” he asked,   
pressing hard.  
  
Laura raised her eyebrows.  “I suppose … I thought I could work during the baby’s naps.  Maybe I can’t   
put in the hours I do now, but I should be able to do a decent amount.  I … for a while I’ll be doing more   
of what I’m doing now: case work from the office.  I might be able to do some fieldwork, but I don’t   
know how much.”  
  
“And what about me?”   _There’s the hard one, love.  
  
_ She frowned.  “What about you?”  
  
“What’s my role going to be?”  
  
He could see her thinking carefully about her response and tried not to hold his breath in anticipation.  At   
last she asked, “What do you want it to be?”  
  
 _Right on target._  “Ah, that’s the question I’ve been waiting to hear.”  
  
“I don’t understand.”  
  
“Laura, you don’t have to raise our child and run the agency by yourself.  I’ve had the feeling lately that   
you’ve forgotten that you have me to help you with both.  I plan to change my fair share of diapers--  
though I may regret saying that--and while I may not have your management skills, I’ll do in a pinch.”  
  
“But I just said that I fully expected you to pick up the slack while I was out,” she responded with a   
furrowed brow.  
  
“Love, I need you to understand that I’ll be there as both a parent and a partner at the office too.”  He   
tried to be solicitous but she wasn’t having any of it.  
  
Struggling to get out of the chair, she waved off his proffered hand.  As she got to her feet, she snapped   
back.  “Stop patronizing me, Rei.  I wouldn’t be pregnant if I didn’t think you were willing to do your   
share--both at home and the office.  If you want to solve a problem that annoys the hell out of me, figure   
out how we can go back to solving cases together without handing our baby over to someone else during   
the day.  I didn’t build my own business so that someone else could raise my children.  But--”  She put   
the heel of her hand on her forehead.  
  
He saw her face crumple before she turned away to finger the baby blanket on the crib.  As the silence   
stretched, he eased behind her to lay his chin on her shoulder.  He rubbed her arms for a moment before   
holding her in his embrace.  He’d wondered when this was going to come out.  He’d seen her struggling   
with her own restrictions these past two weeks.  
  
When she partially turned in his arms, her dry face belied the sadness in her eyes.  “I miss taking on the   
tough cases with you.  I don’t like being sent home the moment a case gets interesting.”  He started to   
protest, but she stopped him, saying, “I understand it.  I know better than anyone how quickly a day can   
go from excruciatingly routine to dodging bullets without any notice.  I don’t like stepping back, but I   
wouldn’t change anything right now.  You’ve been very quiet on the issue, which I appreciate, but we   
both know that the situation at the software company could have turned out very differently if you hadn’t   
been there.  For now, this is simply the way it has to be.”  
  
He waited her out, knowing there was more.  
  
“I’m jealous.  Terribly jealous watching you and everyone else do my job.  I already feel as if I’m losing   
a part of myself.  I don’t recognize me anymore.  I’m not ‘Laura Steele, private investigator’; I’m ‘Laura   
Steele, gestating detective stuck in an office all day.’ ”  
  
He looked away quickly to hide his twitching lips, but it was too late.  
  
“Stop laughing at me.  It’s not funny.”  She glowered at him.  
  
“I’m not laughing.  I’m deciding what to paint on the ceiling.”  He clutched her shoulders when she   
moved to pull away.  “Laura, love, you own this agency.  Which means you, and only you, decide what   
you will do here.  And it’s not forever.”  
  
She leaned back in his arms.  “No, we own this agency.  We built it together, Remington Steele.  I might   
have started it, but it would never have become what it is today without you.  Which means you have   
just as much of a say in it as I do.”  There was a long pause before she said, “Sometimes I wish--”  She   
stopped again.  
  
“Wish what?”  But she shook her head and wouldn’t continue.  
  
Remington sighed.  Sometimes in her quest to be a strong woman, Laura still tamped her emotions down   
instead of working through them, despite the trust they’d built between them.  But he had an idea of   
where she might be going with this.  “Laura, I miss having you with me.”  
  
“Do you?” she breathed.  
  
“Of course I do, love.  The whole reason I’m in this thing is because of you.”  He drew his eyebrows   
together.  “That’s what you’re afraid of, isn’t it?  That you won’t be needed when it’s time for you to   
come back.  That I’ll get used to working with someone else and won’t want to have you as a partner   
anymore.  Am I right?”  
  
This time tears did fill her eyes, and she rested against him.  “Rei … I--yes,” she admitted.  
  
Concealing his frustration at her periodic streaks of insecurity, he held her to him.  “Laura, I’m not   
interested in a new partner.  I like what I do.  Kaleb fills in admirably, but he’s not you.”  She looked up   
then.  “Who would Nick be without Nora?  If I have a choice of partners, I’d much prefer a lovely   
brunette with a smart mouth and an attitude.  You’re a damned sight prettier than Carter.  I assure you   
that if I have to wiggle through an air vent, I’d rather be looking at your assets than anyone else’s.”    
Gratified to see a glimmer of a smile, he hugged her again.  
  
Grateful maple eyes blinked back the wet and cleared.  “I don’t think I can do that at the moment.”  
  
“No?”  He touched her swollen stomach.  “Perhaps not at the moment, but soon enough, love.  One step   
at a time, Laura.”  
  
Her confidence back in place, she nodded and eased away, but not before laying a hand on his cheek.  
  
“Will you hand me a nail?”  
  
Dropping a kiss into her palm, he answered, “Of course.”

 

 

 


	13. Clues

_Monday, 14 November 1988 -- 33 weeks, 4 days  
  
_ The third week of November had Remington nibbling on his thumbnail more than once.  At seven   
months’ pregnant, Laura’s walk took on a distinctive waddle.  He loved it.  As her mood deteriorated,   
her wit became sharper as she blamed anything and everything on him, and he had his hands full keeping   
her soothed.  He adored that too.  Both Siobhán and the staff at the agency made it clear that his efforts   
hadn’t gone unnoticed.    
  
He knew Laura tried to have a positive attitude.  She would paste a smile on her face each morning and   
pretend that being pregnant brought her only joy.  For certain, she would get the oddest look of happiness   
whenever the baby moved about.  But Remington knew that her newfound clumsiness--something she’d   
never experienced--annoyed her, as did the constant questions from outsiders that she had to answer   
about her pregnancy.  
  
After Laura had spent an entire week at her desk, she’d insisted on doing a minimal amount of   
fieldwork.  At this point, she was willing to retrieve autopsy reports if it meant getting out of the office for  
a while.  It took some creativity, but he let her convince him to see things her way.  In reality, the whole   
staff had dropped subtle hints that Laura had too much time on her hands.  With little else to do, she’d   
cleaned out the supply closet and break room and spent the rest of her time hovering over the other   
detectives.     
  
But twice now, she’d stormed into the office threatening to sue well-meaning women for interference   
when she was attempting to elicit information about a case.  Having to deal with questions such as when   
was she due, did she know what she was having, and what names had she picked out had completely   
blown her line of questioning with both a store employee and a city inspector.  
  
She’d also threatened to have the next grandmother that touched her belly arrested for harassment.  
  
Remington couldn’t blame her for any of it.  Honestly, she was dealing with the last stages of pregnancy   
much better than he’d anticipated.  Her verbal retorts were simply her way of blowing off steam.  She   
knew he could handle it.  
  
Watching her ripen filled him with a kind of glee previously reserved only for the most difficult heists he’  
d pulled off.  The ridiculous smile he wore most of the time wasn’t to annoy Laura, although it was   
certainly a nice side benefit.  He simply couldn’t keep it off his face.  
  
This morning, she’d finally given up on wearing heels to the office, favoring tennis shoes instead for her   
swollen feet.  It was her turn to take Siobhán to school, and she’d come into the kitchen where he was   
filling her thermos with tea.  Siobhán stuffed her books into her backpack resting on the barstool.    
  
Seeing Laura’s irritation as she stamped into the kitchen and knowing it wasn’t seven-thirty yet, he asked   
with studied aplomb, “What’s wrong, love?”  
  
Planting one hand on the island and another on her hip, Laura held out a foot where the laces dangled   
from her sneaker.  He arched a brow and waited, manfully concealing a grin.  But his lips twitched.  
  
His indignant fairy snarled, “You got me pregnant.  My feet won’t fit into most of my shoes, and now I   
can’t even tie the damned things.  If I lean over, either I can’t breathe or I have to go to the bathroom.    
So now it’s your job to tie my shoes, Mr. Steele.”  
  
Siobhán clapped a hand over face to stifle her laughter.  
  
He tried.  He really did.  Remington looked away for a long moment to keep his own composure but lost   
it anyway when he turned back to Laura.  Laughing until tears came into his eyes, he picked her up and   
twirled with her in the kitchen.  Setting her down again, he framed her face with his hands and kissed her   
silly.  
  
Laura’s whole body softened.  When they came up for air, Remington stroked her cheek, saying, “I don’  
t mean to laugh, a chuisle mo chroí, but I can’t resist when you’re piqued.”  He knelt down to place her   
foot on his knee, tie her shoe, and then did the same with the other one.  When he stood, he swooped in   
for another kiss, leaving her shaking her head and trying not to smile.  
  
“Damn it, Remington, how am I supposed to stay mad when you do that?”  
  
He shrugged and handed over the thermos for her drive.  “Beats the bloody hell out of me.”  The grin   
stayed with him for the rest of the morning.  
  
  
  
  
On the way to school, Laura turned to Siobhán and asked, “What did Remington say to me--in Gaelic?”  
  
Pinking a little, Siobhan answered, “Um, I guess a literal translation is ‘pulse of my heart.’  It’s something  
you say only to those you love most.”  
  
Laura only nodded and drove on, feeling the warmth of the phrase flood through her.  She knew that   
Remington and Siobhán spoke the language frequently when they were together.  Lately, she’d noted   
Remington's sprinkling in the odd Gaelic phrase here and there.  It seemed as if Siobhán had reawakened   
a part of him he’d kept hidden all these years.  Six years of knowing him and she still discovered new   
tidbits about him all the time.  
  
After she dropped her daughter at school with a quick hug and a wave, Laura zipped to the agency.  It   
was too early for anyone else to be here.  When she closed her office door, she leaned against it and bit   
her lip against the emotions that threatened to swamp her.  
  
She knew she’d been difficult this past month.  Being pregnant had long lost its appeal--well, except for   
feeling the baby move.  That sensation usually put her in a good mood whenever it happened throughout   
the day, but it rarely lasted long when countered by an aching back, swollen feet, and emotions bouncing   
between the two extremes.  But no matter what she dished out, Remington had a ready retort, hug or a   
kiss that set her back on track.  He understood exactly how hard it was for her to step back and let others   
do the work she loved.  He appreciated how frustrated she’d become with her own limitations.  And   
more importantly, he knew that she wouldn’t change one minute of being pregnant.  
  
Holding out her shoe, admiring the neat bow, she grinned.  
  
  
  
  
Remington appeared in the office at ten.  After checking his schedule with Ian and picking up his mail, he  
peeked in on Laura--who had a smile on her face and a stack of paperwork in front of her.  A ready   
wave and a smile meant that she would visit with him when she was off the telephone.  Apparently, he   
had lightened her mood better than he'd realized that morning.  
  
But as he opened a brown enveloped marked “Private and Confidential,” he lost his breath.  Black and   
white eight-by-ten photos of Siobhán spilled out.  Most of them were taken near her school as she was   
dropped off or picked up.  One was of her on the back of the horse she preferred at lessons, another   
from their last trip to the beach.  
  
He looked through the pictures again and in the envelope, but there wasn’t a note.  The Los Angeles zip   
code on the postmark was that of one of the major postal hubs.  A quick phone call to the school   
confirmed that Siobhán was in class and safe.  He made another one to Sandra and asked her to make a   
thorough reconnaissance of the area, looking for someone taking photographs.  
  
Chewing on his thumb, he stared at the pictures, wondering what in the bloody hell they meant.  Finally,   
he stuffed the photographs back into the envelope and laid it in his drawer.  They weren’t forgotten, by   
any means, but he didn’t know what to make of them.  Not wanting to worry Laura, all he could do was   
to keep a very careful eye on Siobhán.  He made a discrete phone call to Sandra.  
  
  
  
Two days later, he received a second set of photographs.  This time they were of Laura: Laura while   
doing legwork, Laura on her way to therapy, Laura while picking up Siobhán from school, Laura while   
selecting baby furniture.  
  
The last one scared him nearly senseless.  He’d been only a couple of steps away from her.  Not once   
had he suspected someone was snapping pictures nearby.    
  
Again, he didn’t find a note.  This time, though, he scrutinized every square inch of each photograph with   
a magnifying glass, looking for fingerprints or any identifying marks.  But whoever had taken these   
pictures had personally developed them and carefully handled them.  He couldn’t find any lab markings   
on the back of any of them.  
  
He didn’t want to share this with Laura.  No, not with all they’d been through … but he gathered up both   
sets of photographs, walked to Laura’s office to sit on the corner of her desk and handed them to her.  
  
She frowned and opened the envelopes.  As she withdrew the pictures, she asked, “What are these?”  
  
“They were sent to me.  Siobhán’s came two days ago; I received yours today.  I’ve had Sandra   
watching for anyone taking pictures of Siobhán at school.”  
  
“That’s why she’s been unavailable.”  Crinkling her brow, she peered into the envelope.  “Was there a   
note?”  
  
“No.  Both are postmarked at the downtown hub here in LA.  No fingerprints and no photo processing   
marks.  Someone did these in his own darkroom.”  Faintly clenching his jaw, he added, “Someone’s   
trying to make me nervous, Laura, and he’s succeeding.”  Remington tapped the last photograph.  “I was   
beside you here and didn’t suspect a thing.”  
  
“Have you received anything else?  Phone calls, notes, anything odd that stands out?”  Keeping her cool,   
she flicked her brown eyes to his face.  
  
Remington abruptly stood and, in a hard tone, spouted out, “Damn it, Laura, I know how to do this!”    
Calming himself, he held his hands up.  “I’m sorry.  No.  No notes, no calls, nothing except a couple of   
useless envelopes and a stack of damned good photographs.”      
  
She nodded.  “All right.  Let’s call a staff meeting.”  
  
“Laura, the connection there eludes me.  I get photographs of my family, and you want to call a staff   
meeting?”  She hmmed an agreement and stood while he tossed up his hands in resignation.  
  
  
  
It was after lunch before everyone could be rounded up.  Sandra left her perch near Siobhán’s school,   
and Kaleb returned from the security setup he had been supervising.  Laura handed the photos to Mildred   
and sat gingerly on the arm of the couch in Mr. Steele’s office.  Still agitated, Remington paced.  
  
Laura took the lead.  “Monday, Mr. Steele received the packet of photographs of Siobhán in the mail.    
This morning he received an identical packet with photographs of me.  Nothing else was enclosed.  There   
are no unusual markings on the envelopes.  I’m assuming that we are being targeted somehow.  For   
what, I don’t know.”  She crossed her arms.  “My first assumption is that it must be someone from our   
past.  Since the envelopes came here rather than our home, I will assume it’s an agency association, not a   
personal one, although I don’t want to rule out the latter.  
  
“Sandra, I’d like for you to continue your surveillance near Siobhán’s school to see if you can identify   
anyone in particular who might be taking these pictures.  Feel free to pass over any cases to me that I can   
help you with in the meantime.  Mildred, I know you’ve got a list of all the people we’ve put away since   
the agency began.  Work with Ian, and let’s find out who is still behind bars and who is out on parole.  
  
“Kaleb, I want you to shadow Mr. Steele and me when we are out of the office.  I think it’s safe to say   
that for the time being, we’ll be staying close together, but I’d like an extra set of eyes.”  Laura laced her   
fingers together and laid them on her knee.  “Now my question to all of you is simply this: have any of   
you noticed anything out of the ordinary, had a case bother you recently, had a phone call that didn’t   
seem right--anything at all.”  
  
Sandra bobbed her head of short red hair.  “The only thing that comes to mind for me is the file I gave   
Mr. Steele a while back.  But I’ve closed it and haven’t heard a peep since.”  
  
Laura nodded.  “Where is that file now?”  
  
“Ah, still at home.  I’ve flipped through it a time or two but couldn’t come to any conclusions either,”   
Remington admitted.  
  
Mildred cocked her head.  “Mrs. Steele, you think this is someone we’ve dealt with out of the agency,   
but he's personally targeting you, Chief?  Any chance it could have something to do with … recent   
events?”  
  
Steele crossed his arms and gazed levelly at her--then agreed.  “I’ll call Buchanan.  We may not have   
covered our tracks well enough with Siobhán.”  
  
  
  
Remington’s call to James Buchanan proved fruitless.  It appeared that only a handful of household   
servants had any idea Siobhán was gone.  The ones that did assumed she’d joined her father wherever he   
was.  It was a sad commentary that, despite losing their positions when Carlisle was jailed, most of the   
staff held little concern for the girl.  Only the former housekeeper fretted when she’d heard the news of   
Carlisle’s arrest.  Buchanan privately reassured the woman that Siobhán was in a safe place with people   
who loved her.  
  
Remington’s gut told him that whatever was happening here wasn’t related to Ireland.  But he couldn’t   
prove it.  
  
  
  
Laura had her hands full keeping her husband from swaddling her and Siobhán in cotton and locking   
them both away in the penthouse.  But they did stay close, making certain no one was left alone.  Fred   
worked overtime driving the trio.  
  
Remington had called the driver to give him a quick run-down of events on Thursday morning.  “I can’t   
leave Siobhán or Laura alone, mate.  Not for a moment with this.  I’m counting on you to help.  Right   
now, I have to assume one of us is a target, and as high-profile as the limo is, I want you to lock it up   
and drive Laura’s car.  Check the limo thoroughly for anything out of the ordinary--bombs, tracking   
devices, bugs.  For now, the Auburn is parked in the garage at the apartment.  I picked it and the Lexus   
apart last night, and they’re clean; but I’d rather they stay that way.  
  
  
  
One of the cases Sandra turned over was one that Remington would have fielded anyway.  Attorney   
Josie Alvaraz had hired them again to search for some missing assets--including a Faberge egg and a   
handful of valuable stock certificates.  Once Ms. Alvaraz knew where they were hidden, she could   
handle the matter from a legal aspect.  But that meant getting eyeballs on them and photographs if   
possible.  
  
Sandra had narrowed down the field of possible locations for the missing items to either a yacht anchored   
in the LA harbor or and a small penthouse in Bel Air.  Thursday evening, Remington planned to hit the   
boat first with Laura on lookout.  Nervous about leaving his daughter alone, Siobhán came with them.    
Carter tailed along in his own car to watch for spies.  
  
On the drive, Siobhán worked on a piece of music for her piano recital.  The composition had to be   
original, and parts of it caused her to mutter more Gaelic curses--mild ones that Da didn’t protest.  She   
and Laura took turns humming the melody and harmony while Siobhán wrote notes in the margins of her   
music book.  
  
Thoroughly distracted as he thought about the photographs, Remington paid them little attention.  In what  
seemed like no time at all, Fred parked at the harbor, and Laura interrupted his reverie.  They strolled   
arm in arm down the pier with Siobhán leading them, peering over the railings and goggling at the huge   
yachts lashed to the docks.  Scores of other tourists strolled about, some families but mostly couples.    
Laura and Siobhán found a handy bench to sit on while Remington slipped over the rail and into the   
cabin of the yacht in question.    
  
Laura wore the wire under her shirt with the microphone hidden by her collar.  She listened to   
Remington’s soft breath coming through the headset hidden in her hair as he picked the lock, disabling   
the security system.  
       
“I’m in,” he said, his voice low and quiet in her ear, “heading for the main cabin.”  
  
Laura kept one eye on Siobhán and swept the area for anyone walking near their area.  A young couple   
walked by, whispering soft words Laura couldn’t make out.  But they went on, posing no threat, and she   
said nothing to Remington.  She could hear the quiet snick of drawers opening and closing.  
  
“Cabin’s clear.  I’m checking the other rooms now,” he said.  
  
It took Remington nearly forty-five minutes to determine that if anything was on board, he wasn’t going   
to find it.  “It’s not here, love.  We’ll have to try the penthouse.”  
  
The apartment was easier.  Laura and Siobhán stayed in the car while Remington and Kaleb slipped   
upstairs.  Within ten minutes, the pair found both the Faberge egg and the stock certificates in a safe.    
Laura followed their movements with the wires and kept a careful lookout with Fred.  Carter snapped   
pictures, and the two men slipped out the way they came in.  
  
  
  
The next day, Carter eased into Laura’s office, shutting the door behind him.  A glance at the connecting   
door had Laura rolling back in her chair to quietly close it as well.  
  
“What’s on your mind, Kaleb?” she asked softly.  
  
The young man sat uncomfortably in the chair across from her.  “Boss Man’s uptight, Mrs. Steele.  It   
took him three tries to crack that safe last night, and it wasn’t anything fancy.  Don’t know how to tell   
him to take it easy, but he’s got to or something’s gonna slip right by him.  I know he’s worried ’bout   
you and Shiv.  We all are.  Nothin’s gonna happen to you guys.  We’re going to make sure of it.”  
  
Laura nodded.  “I’ll talk to him.”  
  
When he left, she didn’t have time to sort through her mail before Mildred peeked in.  “Mrs. Steele, I   
have the list of crooks we’ve put behind bars since the agency opened.  It’s quite a roster now.  Nearly   
half of them have served their sentences and are out on parole.”  
  
She tapped her pencil.  “What about some of the bigger ones?  Wally Donovan, Major Descoine,   
Wendell Whitaker, Eva Wilson, Anthony Delghetti?  
  
Mildred flipped through her pages.  “All of those creeps are still in the pen.  So are Eldon Veckmer and   
Steve Zweigenhoff.  But Creighton Phillips, Considine, and Phil Lydon are all out on parole.”    
  
  
“Okay, let’s find out where they are and if they pose any threat.”  
  
“Will do, Mrs. Steele.”  
  
  
  
Remington made a point of cooking fabulous meals that weekend.  He knew Laura had seen through his   
attempt to keep all three of them in the house.  They’d had a short, nasty argument on this very subject   
on Saturday morning   She’d lost, throwing up her hands in frustration.  
  
In the face of his near-incoherent fear, he fought a hard fight with himself over packing up his family and   
moving to Tahiti.  The incandescent spillover landed on Laura as she sketched out plans for the weekend.  
  
“I’ll go to the market, Laura, but you and Siobhán are staying here.”  His tone brooked no opposition.  
  
Fire flared instantly in her eyes. “We can’t hole up here for the rest of our lives, Rei.”  
  
“No, Laura.  Not before we figure out what in the bloody hell is going on.”  
  
“This isn’t the way to handle it.”  
  
“This is the way we’ll handle it until we have more answers.”  
  
Annoyed at his high-handed tactics, she crossed her arms.  “And when did you begin making executive   
decisions over what we’ll do?”  
  
“Since I’m not the one that’s pregnant and convinced she’s immortal,” he very nearly yelled at her.  Only   
the knowledge that Siobhán played the piano in the living room kept his voice controlled.  
  
“So, in other words, you’re going to set limits on what I do.”  
  
Frustration crawled through him.  He couldn’t think past protecting her and their unborn child.  “Now,   
yes.  The rules have changed.  You will not leave the house this weekend.”  
  
The hard words made Laura flinch.  “As you wish, Mr. Steele.”  She walked out of the room to join   
Siobhán.  
  
Siobhán, unaware of any danger, spent most of the weekend at the piano working on her composition.  
  
  
  
  
Monday morning, just three days before Thanksgiving, Remington stalked into Laura’s office and   
dropped a familiar brown envelope on her desk.  “Bloody hell, Laura, I’ve got more pictures today.  This   
time of the three of us.”  He paced in agitation with his hands stuffed into his pockets.  “I feel like a rat in   
a maze.  Someone is fencing me in, and I can’t see who it is.”  Abruptly, he leaned on her desk with both   
hands.  “Laura, seven months ago I walked into a bloody trap and nearly lost you.  I cannot do that   
again,” he said hoarsely.  
  
Despite the ice sliding down her spine, Laura stayed calm.  Remington’s face had lost its color, and strain   
showed in the lines on his face.  Neither of them had slept well over the weekend with the harsh words   
of Saturday still hanging between them.  He’d succeeding in frightening her though, and she’d spent a   
great deal of time thinking over old cases, attempting to determine which person might be responsible.  
  
She reined in her own fears to focus on his words.  “You think this is a trap?”  
  
“What else could it be?” he retorted as he stood again and crossed his arms.  “Why would someone send   
me pictures of my family?”  
  
She forced herself to look at the pictures as another case to solve, one not involving her own family.  It   
took her longer than she liked to close out her partner’s distress along with her own feelings, but she   
succeeded.  Nearly to herself, she muttered, “Why indeed?”  Then her eyes narrowed as she reassessed   
his comments.  Remington’s instincts were rarely wrong.  “But whoever it is just made his first mistake.”  
  
“How so?”  He paced the length of her office and back again.  
  
“Because if this is a trap, now we can start looking for it.  How do you escape a trap?”  
  
Stopping, he opened his mouth and closed it again.  “Spring it or don’t get caught in the first place.”  
  
Leaning back in her chair, she nodded.  “Exactly.  How many ways can this mystery person get to us?”    
She ticked off on her fingers.  “Obviously physically, but also emotionally--by playing games with us--  
and financially--either through our personal accounts or the agency's.  
  
“Or the media,” he added.  His experience with Siobhán and the gossip columns still rubbed raw in   
places.  Remington’s eyes narrowed much as hers had earlier, and he rubbed his chin thoughtfully.    
Punching a button on her phone, he asked, “Mildred, when you have a moment.”  
  
“Of course, Boss.”  
  
The sly blonde with an accountant’s brain and razor-sharp tongue didn’t waste any time rounding the   
corner from her office to Laura’s.  She spied the envelope on her desk.  “Aw, gee whiz.  Not more   
snapshots.”  
  
“Aye, this time of the three of us.  I’ll ask Sandra and Kaleb about them later, but I’ll assume whoever is   
taking them is damned good at giving both of them the slip,” Remington answered.  
  
Mildred sat down on the divan.  Laura rose and crossed over to settle in next to her.  She straightened as   
the baby moved uncomfortably under her ribs.  “Remington thinks someone is setting a trap.  Whoever it   
is wants us frightened and off balance.  They’ve got us there.  We’re probably extraordinarily easy to   
keep tabs on right now because we don’t go anywhere.  When we do, we go together.”  
  
Remington eyed her before conceding.  “First rule of giving someone the slip is to never do the same   
thing twice.  All right.  Point taken, Laura.”     
  
This time, grateful for his agreement, she only nodded.  She needed him thinking, not panicking,   
something she’d been unable to do at home.  “What did you find on our parolees, Mildred?”  
  
“Phillips moved to San Francisco and hasn’t left the city in weeks.  Lydon moved to Indiana, and   
Considine is keeping a low profile here in town.  All of them seem to be on the up and up for the time   
being.”  
  
Disappointed by the answers, Laura latched onto the one that caused her the most concern.  “How did   
Lydon get out so quickly?”  
  
“Light sentence, time off for good behavior, and the judge was in bed with the defense attorney,”   
Mildred quipped with no little censure in her voice.  
  
“Ah.  That fills me with glee,” Laura muttered in annoyance.  
  
“What else can I do?” Mildred asked.  
  
Laura’s mind mentally flitted down the path of logic as she rose and began pacing on the other side of her  
desk so that she wouldn’t interfere with the one Mr. Steele was wearing in her carpet.  “Run a deep   
search on our finances.  Look for anyone tapping into our information but go deeper than that.  Look for   
anyone trying to set up false accounts, false investments and the like.  Get Ian to check into our agency   
and home phone records to see if anything funny is going on.”  
  
Mildred nodded.  “I’ll get on that right away.”  
  
“Thank you, Mildred.”  Tapping her fingers on her elbow, Laura turned to Remington.  “Have there   
been any ‘bells’ ringing on our security systems?”  
  
“No.  Now why does that suddenly seem odd?”  
  
“Because if you are going to set a trap, the easiest place to set it is wherever the quarry is going to be.    
Whoever it is has to know that I’m pregnant and probably won’t be going many places.  Siobhán stays   
very close to us.  So--”  
  
Mildred stayed silent while Laura worked her way through the clues, but Remington snapped his fingers.    
“So, if the trap is physical, it won’t be here.”  He shook his fingers at Laura.  “No off-site meetings   
without knowing exactly where we are going.  We’re not going to have another situation like Major   
Descoine's calling after hours and sending one of us on a wild goose chase.”  
  
“Agreed,” said Laura without hesitation.  Pursing her lips, she leaned through the office door.  “Ian?”  
  
“Yes, ma’am?”  The young man set his coffee aside on his desk and approached her.  
  
“You’ve developed a certain rapport with the media, wouldn’t you say?”  
  
He flashed his California surfer grin.  “Sure.  Not a week goes by that I don’t receive an offer for tickets   
or dinner from a hungry reporter.  No offense, but you guys have been doling out more than your fair   
share of headlines this year.  Everybody is keeping me happy hoping that I’ll feed them a peanut every   
now and then.”  
  
Smiling at his imagery, Laura told him, “Let’s go to work on those contacts.”  Shooting a sly glance at   
Remington, she added, “Why don’t we offer interviews.  I’ll take them this time, and we can ‘catch up’   
the public on our growing family.”  She patted her tummy.  
  
“Sure, Mrs. Steele.  I can do that.  What’s this going to net us?”  
  
With an admiring glance to Laura for her foresight, Remington interjected, “Good publicity never hurts;   
but if someone attempts to throw a poor light on the agency, we’ll already be in a position to deal with it.    
Publicly attacking a pregnant mother will only reflect poorly on the media.  Plus, it will give her   
something to do that won’t involve chasing down suspects.”  
  
“Mr. Steele!” Laura chided him for the last statement.  “It should raise our visibility too, making it harder   
for someone to come after us.  Whoever is after us won’t be interested in being caught on camera.  We’ll   
make a point of being seen, maybe even let one of the better reporters trail me and do a story about   
working mothers.  That gives me protection while freeing Mr. Steele to investigate.”  
  
His jaw clenched.  “So you’re going to serve as a decoy again.”  
  
“Can you think of a better idea?” she retorted as her patience with him ran thin.  He didn’t answer, and   
she didn’t wait for one.  “Then you and Ian decide which reporters we should use.”  She dumped the   
responsibility squarely in Remington’s lap, and the protest died on his lips.  The faint quirk of his brow   
told her he appreciated her trust, and she could see his temper cooling.  
  
“Ian, is there anything on my calendar that can’t be cleared today?” she asked.  
  
“You have an appointment with Mr. Diaz to close that case at one and Mrs. Dupont at three for an   
update.  Do you want me to move them?”  
  
She tapped her cheek.  “Sandra’s going to be in on the Diaz case.  We’re giving him the evidence against   
his wife, right?”  
  
“Yes, ma’am.”  
  
“And Dupont is the skip-trace on her aunt.  She just wants an update.  No, I can take both of those.  Mr.   
Steele?  Are you free this morning?”  She challenged him with a raised brow of her own.  
  
“I can clear it,” he said shortly, before giving Ian a hard nod to do so.  
  
“Good.”  She rose and smoothed her jacket.  “Mildred, let me know what you uncover.  Mr. Steele and I   
will be in his office.”  She disappeared through the connecting door.  
  
Remington crossed his arms.  “Well, it appears we all have our marching orders.”  
  
The other two hastily departed, closing Laura’s door behind them.  
  
  
  
In the hallway, Ian scratched his ear.  “Is it just me or has Mr. Steele been calling most of the shots here   
lately?”  
  
“Uh-huh,” Mildred agreed.  
  
“And did I just see Mrs. Steele pull him up short and take control of this agency again?”  
  
“Uh-huh,” she said again.  
  
“Can we close for an early lunch?”  
  
“Nope.  Sparks are about to fly.  I don’t want to miss it.”  
  
“Who’s going to win?”  
  
Mildred tilted her head.  “You’ve been here two years, and you don’t know the answer to that?”    
Confused, Ian shook his head.  “Think about it.  I’ll give you until lunchtime.  You figure it out by then,   
I’ll buy.”  
  
  
  
Laura paced in front of Remington’s office window as he closed both doors to the office and locked   
them.  Neither of them spoke until she broke the silence.  
  
“This frightens me, Rei.  I don’t know what we’re up against.”  Her frank answer led him to close the   
distance between them.  She put her hands up when he would have embraced her.  “I don’t need   
comfort right now.  What I need is a little clear-headed thinking from you.  I do know that if both of us   
can’t get our heads straight, we’re going to lose this game.  Someone out there knows you well enough to   
push you off balance in a way I only see when you are scared.”  
  
She leaned against the desk and held a hand on a bulge where the baby pressed a foot hard against her   
rib.  “Kaleb told me about the trouble you had cracking the safe last week because you were distracted,   
and this weekend was terribly out of character for you.  I’m sure you’ve purchased plane tickets for the   
three of us.  Where to?”  
  
Remington crossed his arms in annoyance.  “Denver.  Between Murphy and me, we can keep you and   
the children safe.”  
  
Sighing in frustration, she said, “Rei, I’m not running from this.  We have to find out what is going  
on, or we will never be safe here.  I need you thinking right now--icy calm, remember?”  His eyes   
traveled from hers to her belly where her hand still pressed against a stray foot.  She caught his hand and   
slid it under her own.  “Remington, I’m not telling you you’re wrong for feeling the way you do.  God   
knows, I’m scared too.  But I’ll be damned if someone is going to take away what we’ve built together.    
Not here and not now.”  
  
His expression lightened as the bump under his hand kicked once in protest before moving away to rest   
on another part of Laura’s anatomy.  At last, he nodded in agreement.  “All right.  All right, Laura.  What   
is it you want me to do?”  
        
“You’re the expert at evasion.”  
  
“Laura,” he chided at the reminder of his past.  
  
She tapped his chest.  “How would you get to one of us?”  
  
Slowly blowing out his breath, he leaned against the desk as he thought.  “The home and office are too   
well secured to be breeched.  So, it has to be in the open.  Or I’d have to lead you where I want you to   
go.”  In frustration, he stuffed his hands into his pockets.  “We’ve already covered this, Laura.  None of   
us will take clients out of the office for the time being.”  
  
“How else?  If this is a trap, how do you lead someone into it?”  
  
“Laura--” he protested.  
  
She threw up her hands.  “Mr. Steele!”  She calmed, taking several deep breaths before pacing about.    
“Please.  If you can’t get to us at home, or the office, or in the open, how would you do it?”  
  
“Laura, you’re talking about something that would take weeks to set up.  Time, money, and a bloody   
good reason for vengeance.”  
  
“It’s been at least two weeks that we know for certain, Mr. Steele.  Who knows how long this has been   
planned?”  
  
Remington pressed his lips into a thin line.  “Someone wants us off balance.  Frightened into doing   
something we normally wouldn’t do.  Which means our normal routine is enough to defeat whatever he’s   
planning.  Otherwise, why send us the photos?”  
  
Laura leaned against the desk, listening as her husband did what he did best.  She analyzed clues; he   
painted the picture.  
  
“Which means,” he continued, “we do what we’ve been doing.  No changes other than being sensible   
about not being alone and being very wary of strange calls or cases.  If it was me, I’d pretend to be   
someone from the school.  Naturally, one or both of us would rush right over.”  
  
“So let’s set up a password for the school to use, or else we have to speak to Siobhán personally,” Laura   
suggested.  
  
Remington nodded.  “That’s simple enough.”  
  
“What else?”  
  
He tipped his head back, thinking.  “Same thing with your obstetrician, Laura.  If I was to get a call that   
you were in labor or having trouble, I wouldn’t think twice about going to your side.”  
  
“All right.  I’ll call the doctor--and we need to make certain Ian’s on board.  More than likely, he’ll be the   
one passing messages.”  
  
“Of course.  And Laura, I know we’ve our pager codes for emergencies, but I need to know the   
difference between baby and any other kind of emergency.”  
  
Her lips twitched at that, and she nodded.  “My phone number, my code, and two stars instead of one   
for the baby.”    
  
“Good Lord, can you key all that?”  
  
“I’ll have to.”  
  
Remington eased down onto his sofa.  “Bugger me, Laura.  The best way to get at someone out in the   
open is to follow him until the opportune moment arrives.  That moment could be anything--a chance   
meeting, a turn down the wrong sidewalk, or even a stumble on a step.  I don't know what this bloke   
wants, so I don't know how to avoid those things, except to make certain we aren't alone.  Someone has   
been following us, and neither of us has made him yet.”  
  
Laura crossed her arms as she settled into the chair near him.  “You’re not going to like this.”  He slanted   
narrowed blue eyes her way.  “I think I need to be the bait with the media team.  If you’re undercover,   
you’ll spot whoever’s after us faster than anyone else.”  
  
“Laura--”  
  
“Hear me out, Remington.  You’ll be right behind me.  How else can we flush this person out?  We’ll do   
this while Siobhán is safe at school.  I’ll have a reporter and a camera man with me.  It’s not our usual   
routine, which plays along with the setup, but we’re controlling the situation as much as possible.”  
  
She could see him tamping down his irritation to give the scenario fair consideration.  As he locked away   
his emotions, she could see his personality change.  He’d spent most of his life hiding behind a congenial   
mask, but in the past three years, he’d set it aside for the most part whenever he was with her.  Now it   
settled back into place as Remington assessed her idea.  
  
Paul Fabrini, she guessed.  Sure enough, Remington rose to pour himself a finger of Amaretto over ice   
from the bar in his office.  There wasn’t enough liquid in the glass to qualify as a drink--only a taste, a   
flavor that recalled the Continental persona he drew on like a tuxedo jacket.  
  
He turned, his blue eyes icy and inscrutable and his posture impossibly correct.  “It will work.  It has to   
be done now before you draw closer to your due date.”  
  
Laura’s heart ached as she saw the man she loved revert to the mannerisms that expertly concealed the   
essence of him.  After the years of helping him to peel back those layers, it hurt more than she   
anticipated to see them envelop him again.  She could only imagine what it cost him.  
  
Smooth British tones with a faint Italian air overlaid his voice, further cementing the persona.  “I’ll be   
with Ian.  We’ll set up a press conference for tomorrow morning at ten and select a team to follow you.”    
He pressed his lips together in irritation.  “I suppose we’ll have to wait until after the holiday week to set   
the trap.  With your family, you’ll probably be safe enough.”        
  
“Exactly, Mr. Steele.  If you’ll arrange a staff meeting for this afternoon, we can prep the others.”  She   
tried hard to match his composure.  
  
“Excellent thinking, Miss Holt.”  Laura caught her breath.  The hurt must have shown in her face   
because Remington crossed to her, brushing his long, elegant fingers across her cheek.  “Mrs. Steele.”  
  
Without a word, he slid his hands into her hair, tilting his head for a ravenous kiss that melted her knees   
and dug a hole in her heart all at the same time.  He broke it off, touching his fingers to his lips before   
nodding and exiting the office.  
  
Laura ran her own hands through her hair, wondering exactly what she’d done.

 

 

 


	14. Preparation

_Monday, 21 November 1988 -- 34 weeks, 4 days  
  
_ Remington took the lead at the four o’clock staff meeting, briefing the employees on attire, deportment   
and appropriate statements.  He stood, his posture absolutely correct, as he gestured with Old World   
elegance.  
  
“Affable, professional and don’t say a damned thing about any cases.  Leave that to Miss--Mrs. Steele,”   
he added with a cold smile.  Laura merely straightened on her perch on the desk, not acknowledging his   
slip.  “Tomorrow is all about how we have the agency covered in this modern era of working mothers as   
she takes a leave of absence, but also that she’ll be missed and welcomed back when she’s ready to   
return.”  
  
He lifted her hand in his, catching only her fingertips in a gracious manner.  “We’ll be walking a fine line,  
emphasizing Mrs. Steele’s importance without making it seem as if the agency will fall apart in her   
absence.  We know it won’t because of the excellently-trained staff and guidance of Ms. Krebs--who has   
managed the agency during our lengthy absences in the past.  Please stick to the script, ladies and   
gentlemen.  Any questions should be referred to Mrs. Steele or me.”  
  
He dismissed the others from his office with a brief nod.  Mildred shot Laura a quizzical look.  She   
pressed her lips and shook her head once.   _Later_.  Mildred nodded in understanding and left with the   
others.  
  
He gathered up the list of reporters who had been invited and set it on his desk.  Laura decided that while   
the Paul Fabrini persona was effective and would serve well at the press conference, she’d had enough of   
it at the office that day.  “Paul” could stay at the office.  Remington had other things to do.  
  
“There’s something else on our agenda,” she mentioned rather casually.  Standing behind his desk, he   
quirked an imperious brow and waited for her to finish.  “Our childbirth classes start tonight.  Mildred   
says she’ll stay with Siobhán while we go to the hospital.”  
  
The blank stare that came back to her reflected none of Paul and all of Remington.  “Ah … ah, do I have   
to go?”  
  
“Did you get me pregnant?” she retorted, irritated that he would even ask.  
  
“Actually, Mrs. Steele, I believe I must equally share the blame in that department with you.”  The hint   
of humor eased her annoyance, but she firmly suppressed her smile.  
  
“Is that argument supposed to alleviate your … desire … to attend these classes with me,” she said   
sweetly.  
  
“Ah, no, of course not.  I’m … looking forward to them,” he prevaricated.  “Why wouldn’t I look   
forward to learning how to best bring our precious child into this world?”  
  
“Why indeed, Mr. Steele?”  She left his office to gather her things, confident that Mr. Fabrini would stay   
at the agency that evening.  
  
  
  
Laura picked at her thumbnail as Remington drove them to Cedars-Sinai Medical Center.  He’d refused   
to consider any other venue for the birth of their child.  For once, she agreed without a qualm.  Her   
doctor delivered babies at Los Angeles County as well, but the Stanford Cardinal in her simply couldn’t   
bear the idea of having a child so close to USC.  Since Cedars happened to be conveniently located   
between the agency and home, the decision appeared moot anyway.  
  
She wished he would quit lecturing her.  He loved to do that whenever his nerves jangled.  At the   
moment, she regretted leaving “Paul” at the agency.  In that persona, Remington never lectured, only   
charmed her and offered choice tidbits that made her laugh.  
  
She’d insisted that Fred give her car back, and Remington drove it with one eye on the rearview mirror   
the whole time.  
  
“I don’t see why Fred couldn’t have dropped us at the hospital.  It’s safer and far more comfortable for   
you.”  
  
She certainly didn’t need the reminder that sitting in the passenger seat could only be described as   
“uncomfortable” at this stage of pregnancy.  When she shifted, he reached over to adjust her seatbelt   
again.  This time she pushed his wrist away, admonishing him.  
  
“Mr. Steele.”  
  
Raising his hand in apology, he muttered, “Sorry, love.”  She took his hand, dropping a kiss on the back   
of it to settle him.  He seemed to take that as a license to resume his scolding.  “We really need to rethink   
how much you drive, Laura.  It’s getting to where your belly won’t fit under the steering wheel.”  
  
Rolling her eyes, she tuned him out to stare through the windowpane.  She loved the view of Los Angeles  
as the city lit up in the darkening sky.  She couldn’t quite admit to him that she didn’t want the limo   
because she wanted this class--or anything to do with their baby--to be private.  She’d walked a careful   
line these last several months to ensure that Siobhán wasn’t excluded from their plans and preparations,   
but as her due date drew closer, she’d found herself yearning for moments where she only had to be a   
somewhat-terrified expectant mother instead of a level-headed mom to a nervous teen.  
  
Surprisingly, Frances had become a stalwart supporter and seemed to understand her needs.  During their   
last phone call, she’d even suggested that the two of them take a little weekend trip together.  
  
“I’m not trying to frighten you, Laura, but this is it--your last chance to be only a couple.  After this, no   
matter what, you’ll be parents first--and quite frankly, sister--sometimes you need something to hold on   
to as a reminder of what you were before you were parents.  It helps to realize that you’ll have that   
again.”  
  
“You are scaring me, Frances.  You’re making it sound as if we’re about to suffer a major disaster.”  
  
“Oh no, Laura.  It’s only that the first few years aren’t easy.  It's incredible, life-changing, and so full of   
amazing surprises you’ll wonder why you waited to have children.  But they are _hard_ , Laura.  I know   
you and Remington are solid and that you love each other, but there will be times you'll need to   
remember that--because you’ll wonder if it’s still true.”  
  
Laura hadn’t bothered reminding Frances that she already had a daughter and a glimmer of   
understanding.  But her sister had only reinforced her resolve to carve out moments here and there   
before their baby was born--and this class would be one of them.  
  
Remington parked the car in the hospital parking lot.  The lights of the building beamed out.  She   
automatically noted the cars streaming in and out of the driveway as she retrieved the required pillows   
from the back seat of the Lexus.  An ambulance paused outside the emergency room, and the ER team   
retrieved an elderly man from the confines of the vehicle.  The sudden thrumming of the helicopter rotors   
as it lifted into the night sky set Laura’s heart to pounding.  Remington took the pillows from her, and she   
tugged her coat more securely over her front as they walked through the sliding doors.  
  
The abrupt contrast of the bright quiet hallway didn’t do much to calm her.  Remington must have   
noticed her tension because he merely pointed the way after reading the bank of signs posted on the wall.  
  
Three other couples looked up as they entered the room.  With apprehension, Laura noted they were the   
oldest of the bunch.  One couple looked as if they were hardly out of their teens, and the other two had   
that fresh, young-wedded look that spoke of marriage straight out of college.  She exchanged a quick   
glance with Rei.  He skimmed a hand up her spine and caressed the nape of her neck, creating a shiver   
that had nothing to do with nerves.  
  
The tables and chairs dotted the back of the room, leaving the front floor space open.  Wincing at the   
sight of the hard plastic chair, Laura sat down.  As they waited for the instructor, doubt crept into her   
psyche.  Had she waited too long for children?  Would she be a good mother?  Would Remington come   
to resent the family life as it placed restrictions on the jet-setting lifestyle he’d enjoyed?  Would she   
resent it?  Eyeing the younger couples, she failed to notice her breathing pattern speed up and her fingers   
clutching convulsively over her husband’s hand.  
  
Remington leaned over to whisper in her ear.  “Damn good thing we didn’t do this at twenty.  At least we   
have enough sense to be petrified.”  
  
Her hair swirled when she turned her head to flash him a smile.  Calmer now, she settled back against his   
other arm while a battle-hardened nurse with pale gray hair walked into the room.  
  
Three hours, a candid video, a brief practice round of breathing techniques, and a tour of the maternity   
ward later--not to mention all the interruptions so the four pregnant moms could trip off to the bathroom--  
Remington strode out of the classroom in a daze, carrying the pillows in a white-knuckled grip.  Laura   
followed, feeling much more confident with the whole process.  She didn’t miss his state of confusion   
and dug for her own keys as they crossed the parking lot.  
        
He didn’t lodge a protest when she slid into the driver’s seat, and she’d driven almost the entire distance   
to their penthouse along Beverly Boulevard before he spoke again.  
  
“I only saw Kate as she delivered Aiden.  I wasn’t there for the labor.  Laura--bloody hell, love--I had no   
idea.”  
  
“About what?”  
  
“I hadn’t quite thought about how the little tyke would get into this world. …  It looks as if it hurts,” he   
added with reluctance.  
  
“That’s what they tell me,” Laura replied.  The baby suddenly protested being squished between the seat   
belt and steering wheel and shoved out a hand to ward off the pressure.  She pressed down on the bump,   
hoping the little one would settle, to no avail.  With the infant squirming and Remington munching   
nervously on a toothpick, she sighed.  After being with Kate while she delivered the twins, she had a   
good idea of what labor entailed, and it didn’t seem to be much fun at all.  One thing was certain,   
Remington wasn’t wiggling out of being there every damned step of the way.  
  
To distract him, she posed the one question guaranteed to garner his undivided attention.  “Have you   
thought any more about names?”  He took such a long time to answer that Laura began to wonder if he’d   
heard her.  In the meantime, she fiddled with the air conditioning unit, dropping it down another couple   
of degrees.  
  
“Grace Elizabeth.”  
  
Grace Elizabeth?  “Elizabeth?  I didn’t know you liked my middle name.”  
  
“Siobhán’s middle name is ‘Elspeth,’ which happens to be the Irish form of ‘Elizabeth.’  The continuity   
of all three of my girls having the same middle name has a great deal of appeal,” he said as he reached   
across to touch fingers to her belly.  
      
“And ‘Grace’ comes from?” she prompted.  
  
“I like it,” he replied.  
  
But Laura could hear the careful nonchalance in his tone.  Skimming through the list of movies and   
actresses she had stored in her memory, she bit her lip thoughtfully.  Then she had it.  “Grace Kelly, To   
Catch a Thief, 1955.  Um--”  
  
“Paramount Pictures.”  
  
A little smile played around her lips before they stretched wide.  “I may have to let that one slip by.  I like  
it too, Mr. Steele.”  Then she caught on to what he’d said.  “You think we’re having a girl?”  
  
He let out a slow breath.  “Oh, I don’t know, love.  I rather like the idea of a house full of females.    
Siobhán’s not a foolish girl, and I can’t imagine a daughter from you would be any different.  There’s an   
appeal to all that.”  
  
“Will you be disappointed if we have a son?” she asked with curiosity.  
  
“Good Lord, no.  A son would be … remarkable.”  He scraped his other hand through his hair as she   
pulled into their garage.  
  
“Any names along that front?”  
  
He shook his head.  “No.  Since you’ve nixed Sam and Nick, I’ve not found any I can settle on. You?”  
  
She snorted.  “Not yet.  Although … I might let you get away with Nick since you keep coming back to   
it.”  
  
He touched his hand to her forehead as she turned off the ignition.  “Laura, really, you must be coming   
down with a fever.  Two screen names for consideration?”  
  
“You might take the concession while you can.”  
  
At last the grin she’d been striving to evoke appeared.  “I will at that.  Nick Steele.  Nicholas Steele.    
Either suits.  What about a middle name?”  
  
“We’ll work on that.  Right now, I need to get this kid out from under the steering wheel before he or she   
squashes my internal organs again.”  Clumsily, she opened the door and scooted out of the seat, only to   
find that Remington had dashed around the car to offer her a hand as she tried to rise.  
  
“I can’t let the mother of my children struggle out of a car, now can I?”  
  
With his help, she leveraged into an upright position, panting slightly at the exertion.  “Five more weeks.    
I don’t know how I’m going to make it.  
  
“Neither do I, Mrs. Steele; neither do I.”  
  
She let out a huff of exasperation in answer to his chuckle.  
  
He stopped her from walking toward the elevator with a caress of knuckles to her cheek.  “I’m sorry   
about today, love.  I have to have something that allows me to put away the fear long enough to do what   
we have to do.  I don’t know any other way.”  
  
“I know, Remington.  But you can’t close me out too--not entirely.”  
  
“I’ll work on that,” he promised.  
  
“Do.”  
  


 

 


	15. False Trails

_Tuesday, 23 November 1988 -- 34 weeks, 5 days_  
  
Mildred waited as a mom does when her errant child is due home.  Only in this case, she patiently cooled   
her heels until Mr. Steele arrived at the office.  This morning, she had arrived early enough to clear a few   
key items from her desk before the press conference … and to have a little talk with Mr. Steele.  
  
Last night, Siobhán had turned in nearly a half hour before her parents arrived home from birthing   
classes, leaving Mildred alone in the living room with reruns of The Honeymooners.  Thus, she’d been   
well-situated to see the distress on Mr. Steele’s face when the foyer door opened.   Oh, the pair was   
laughing over names again--pulling random ones out of a hat and trying them on before one or the other   
nixed the suggestion.  But Mildred had noted the usual concern in his eyes as they looked after Laura and   
picked up on the touch of fear adding faint stress lines at the corners.   
  
At a quarter to nine the Steeles arrived, followed by Ian and Sandra moments later.  Kaleb wandered in   
at five after with a box of donuts.  Mildred hopped up and absconded with a cream-filled one before the   
smells wafted into Mr. Steele’s office and brought him out to pick through the rapidly depleting box.  She   
made a face at the chocolate-covered chocolate cake donut, and Ian guffawed as Mr. Steele grimaced   
before wrapping it in a napkin to drop on Mrs. Steele’s desk.  Sandra used her long, hot-pink-tipped   
fingernails to select a jelly-filled donut that sprinkled sugar in its trail when she lifted it from the container.  
  
At this time of day, most of the co-workers had open doors as calendars were reviewed, appointments   
shifted, questions asked and resources gathered.  Mildred occupied herself by going over research with   
Ian at his desk where she kept an eye on Mr. Steele eating his donut from his perch on Mrs. Steele’s   
desk.  When he brushed the last of the sugar from his fingers and leaned down to kiss his wife, Mildred   
began wrapping up her questions.  By the time he'd closed Mrs. Steele’s door and reappeared in his own   
office, Mildred had timed her entrance with his and shut his door behind her.   
  
“Ah, good morning, Ms. Krebs.”  His cheerful voice still didn’t completely cover the worry in his eyes.   
  
“Good morning, Boss.”  She crossed the floor to quietly close the connecting door to Laura’s office.  
  
Raising his eyebrows, he asked, “What can I do for you?”  
  
“You can start by telling me what happened at class last night that is making you cluck around her like a   
mother hen.  If you aren’t careful, she’s going to notice and call you on it.”   
  
He peered at her.  “Is it that obvious?”  
  
“Only to me.  She’s fairly preoccupied at the moment or she would have caught on last night.”  The   
quizzical expression on his face gave way to worry again.  He turned to face the window and stuffed his   
hands in his pockets as she walked up beside him.  “Come on, Chief, spill it.”   
  
“My mother died having me, Mildred.  Until last night, I hadn’t let myself think about Laura in that light.”  
  
Mildred nodded to herself.  Laura had spoken to her about this very subject weeks ago while on one of   
their mid-afternoon ice cream missions.  Laura didn’t want to bring it up with him, in case he’d either   
come to grips with it or in the event he hadn’t thought about the parallels.  She didn’t really believe the   
latter was a possibility, but the former was likely.  
  
Unless, of course, all those doubts and fears bubbled up again to occupy one’s mind when faced with the   
reality of a pregnant wife.  
  
Mildred infused as much compassion into her voice as she could manage.  “Mr. Steele, your mother was   
alone, in Ireland, with few resources, nearly thirty-six years ago.  On top of that, from what Mrs. Steele   
tells me, she was ill prior to having you.”  She paused before continuing, “Laura will be in Cedars-Sinai,   
one of the best hospitals in the country.  She’s ridiculously healthy and physically stronger than most   
women.  I suspect she could deliver this baby all by herself if we gave her a chance, but we’re not going   
to do that, are we?”   
  
The snort he let out was half in humor, half in relief at her jibe.  “Is it all right if I worry from time to   
time?”  He slanted a wry glance her way.   
  
“Of course.  I wouldn’t expect any less of you, Mr. Steele.”  She put her hands on her hips.  “That class   
must have been a real doozy.”  
  
He brought the back of his fingernail up to nibble on it.  “Mildred, if I’d gone there first, Laura wouldn’t   
be pregnant.”  
  
Waggling her brows at him, she retorted, “Then it’s a good thing you didn’t.  I, for one, am ready to   
have another kiddo to spoil.”  
  
“How do you do it?”  
  
“Do what, Chief?”  
  
“Read me like a damned book.  Once upon a time, there wasn’t a soul who could see through me.”  
  
Huffing a little, she spoke frankly.  ”I started reading you when you quit hiding from me.  If I remember   
it right, it was in a London hotel in 1985.”  Patting him on the cheek, she turned back to her own office,   
already considering the day an accomplishment.   
  
Remington sat on the corner of his own desk and watched her go, astounded by the short conversation.    
He knew she was right about Laura.  Just as somehow she knew he needed reassurance that Laura   
would be all right.   
  
Had he really let down his guard with Mildred that much?  He supposed so.  Shaking his head, he   
remembered how disappointed Mildred had been to discover the deception he and Laura had run on her   
the first two years she’d worked for the agency.  Initially, her irritation had been solely directed at him,   
but later Laura had borne her share of Mildred’s ire; the incident had gone a long way to making the   
three of them close friends.   
  
Having had Mildred’s adoration for two years, her abrupt disapproval had pulled him up short.  Since   
then, he’d done his best to stay in her good graces. _Ah, there’s the key._  He realized now that--unable to   
lie to the older woman and unwilling to dissemble either--he’d stayed on the straight and narrow by   
allowing her to see him in a way that probably only Laura understood.   
  
Upon hearing voices in the outer office which undoubtedly belonged to a gaggle of reporters, he   
straightened his tie, consciously assuming Fabrini’s mannerisms and shutting down his worries.   
  
  
  
The meet with the press went beautifully, especially when Laura dangled the carrot of baby pictures   
under the reporters’ noses for behaving well.   
  
The six reporters chosen by Ian and Remington arrived along with their camera operators.  All were more   
than disappointed to discover they didn’t have an exclusive--yet.   
  
“We, of course, want to provide our clients with the assurance that our operations will continue despite   
my leave of absence.  In return for helping us with that, one of you will get an inside look at our agency   
operations and how working parents fit into the picture.  With Siobhán in our lives and a baby on the   
way, we’ve had to make a number of changes,” Laura said.  “I think there is enough of a story for you   
to feed to the public, and it will keep our clients happy in the meantime.  Does anyone disagree?”  
  
Headshakes and murmured ‘noes’ reached her.   
  
“How will you choose a team?  I’m sure you don’t want a gaggle of people following you?” Janet   
Hawkins, a field reporter from Channel 3’s morning talk show, asked.  
  
“That’s up to you.  We’d like a proposal for a story line by tomorrow morning.  Mr. Steele and I will   
select one based on your submission.  We’ll call you by tomorrow afternoon.  We’d like to get started on   
Monday, right after the holiday weekend.   
  
Matt Maynor of Channel 8 queried, “What’s the rush?”  
  
Instead of answering right away, Laura made a show of glancing down on her belly.  “I suppose we   
could wait.  But Mr. Steele would insist on having an ambulance follow us everywhere we go.”  A   
rumble of laughter followed.  
  
“Will we get pictures of you and your daughter?” Tina Curtis, the frizzy-haired blonde from the Los   
Angeles Tribune, wanted to know.  
  
Laura nodded.  “I think a few tasteful pictures in our penthouse will be acceptable.”  She hadn’t   
discussed that aspect with Remington, but he nodded in agreement from his vantage point behind the   
crews.  “After the baby is born, we’ll bring in the same team for exclusive photographs.  In return, we   
want to do a follow-up once I return to the office--probably somewhere around mid-February--but I’ll   
expect you to be flexible on that one.  Again, we want the publicity so we can demonstrate our   
commitment to excellence to our clients.  Any questions?”   
  
The spattering of questions had more to do with staging, locations, and possible story lines than real   
concern about content.  The six teams shook hands with the Steeles, stole surreptitious glances around   
the agency for possible ideas, and departed to write them down.    
  
Remington closed Laura’s door behind the last reporter.  “That went well.”  
  
She crossed to sit on the divan and kicked her heels off before setting her feet on the fabric.  “Better than   
I anticipated.  I hope you don’t mind the last about a follow-up news item.  It makes sense to bring them   
back in the spring.”  
  
“Yes, that was rather clever of you.  Do you have any preferences for a news team?” he asked.  
  
“Janet Hawkins.  If I recall from earlier this year, she treated you with the utmost of professionalism--  
asking good questions without being outright gossipy,” Laura replied.  
  
“Excellent.  That’s my pick as well, but I would like to see what Christian Carstairs can come up with.    
He sat in the back and took notes.  From what I could read, he might have an interesting angle.”   
  
  
  
Over lunch, as the Steeles bantered about various ideas for both media coverage and flushing out their   
perpetrator, Laura fired a warning shot across the bow of Remington’s plate.  “I promised family pictures   
in the penthouse.  When will Juan and his crew be done?”  
  
Proud of himself for having anticipated the question, Remington took another bite before asking, “What   
if I told you that he and his crew are planning to be done next Monday?”  
  
She rubbed her forehead.  “I’d hoped they would be done before Murphy and Kate come in tomorrow   
afternoon.”  A pained expression crossed her face.  
  
“Then I suppose it’s a good thing that we have our walk-through in an hour.  That gives Juan and his   
crew this afternoon to make any last minute fixes.  The housekeeper comes in the morning for a final   
sweep, right?”  He said it all quite seriously, but the smug grin he wore as he finished gave the game   
away.   
  
“Today?  They’ll be done today?”  
  
He picked up her hand and brushed a kiss across the palm.  “I must keep my wife happy.  If I don’t, my   
whole security team would resign by Monday.”  Three-two-one, he mentally recited.  
  
“Remington Daniel Harrison Steele.  You are the most infuriating, annoying, arrogant man in the world.”    
He arched a brow, pretending to be affronted.  Laura reached across and brushed a thumb on his   
knuckles.  “But you keep your promises.”   
  
“That I do, love.”   
  
  
  
The walk-through came off without a hitch.  Juan’s team, more than half of which worked as Mr. Steele’  
s security crew, had more than a passing familiarity with their employer’s exacting standards.  The rest of   
them had witnessed Mrs. Steele’s previous meltdown.  None wished to stretch out this job any farther   
than necessary, and only minor details had to be corrected that afternoon while Remington and Laura   
retrieved Siobhán from school.   
  
  
  
The Steele family slept late on Wednesday in honor of Siobhán's having a holiday from school.  The trio   
managed to make it into the office just before lunch to review the proposals from the reporters.   
  
Ian handed the stack to Laura as they walked through the door.  “Which one is the best?” she asked him.   
  
“Hawkins is professional, newsworthy and will treat you as a woman and a mother without making you   
look as if you’re shirking your duties to either.  Carstairs has an artsy slant that might be intriguing.  He’s   
taken Mr. Steele’s love of movies and drawn comparisons to women detectives throughout the decades.”  
  
“Which one is best for our agency?”  
  
“Hawkins.”  
  
“But you’d rather see Carstairs’ version,” Laura shrewdly asked.  
  
“Of course.”   
  
“All right.”  She handed the stack of proposals to Remington, who had a pile of mail he idly sorted   
through while he waited.  “Your call.  You and Ian deal with the media far more than I do, so I’ll defer to   
your expertise.”  
  
“Of course,” he replied with a quirk to his brow.   
  
“Is there anything I need to address before we close the office for the week?” she asked Ian.  
  
The secretary flipped through the calendar and picked up a message.  “Just the Culvers case.  He’s got a   
lead for you.”  
  
“Oh, excellent.  I’ll call him while you and Mr. Steele decide which team we will use; then we can set up   
our schedule for next week.”  She turned to her daughter.  “Siobhán?  We’ll be probably an hour   
working out the details.  Do you have any homework?  I saw you brought your backpack.”  
  
Siobhán shrugged.  “Just a chapter of history to read and some physics problems.”  
  
“If you’ll do that, then we’ll go to lunch when we’re finished.  Does that sound all right?”  
  
Siobhán nodded.  “Can I watch TV in your office when I’m done?”  
  
Laura drew her brows together.  “You don’t even need to ask, sweetheart.”  She squeezed Siobhán   
around the shoulders and smiled.   
  
  
  
The call to Brian Culvers netted a possible link to a missing painting.  Culvers headed up an African-  
American museum in San Diego where four paintings had been stolen a year ago.  The police had been   
unable to recover any of them.  In frustration, the museum and insurance company split the fee to hire   
Laura to find them.  Kaleb had been dropping hints and paying off snitches in exchange for leads.  One   
of those had panned out, and two of the paintings had been found already, along with a pair of suspects.   
  
“As it turns out, Mrs. Steele, one of the culprits has a link to an employee, Casey Snyder.  She’s passed   
our background check, but I think it’s worth looking further into her connection,” Culvers said.   
  
“Of course it is.  Thank you for the information.  I’ll follow up on it immediately.”  
  
There was a moment of silence, then, “Excellent, Mrs. Steele.”   
  
Laura shook her head as she hung up.  Another client worrying about her “condition.”  At least this one   
managed to keep his concerns to himself.  She gathered up his file and crossed to Remington’s office,   
where he and Ian still debated between the two reporters.  
  
In the end, Remington had to overrule Ian.  “As much as I’d prefer Carstairs’ version, I think what Janet   
Hawkins will do is better for flushing out our problem.”  
  
“How so?” asked Laura.   
  
“We need you in the field, Laura.  Out on the streets talking to people, not holed up in an office.”  
  
“I would think that Carstairs would do a better job, then.  He wants to do a photo montage of Laura   
posing like the classic detectives, and afterward he’ll do a news article,” Ian argued.   
  
“I know, Connelly, but we need Laura moving about so I have a chance to see who is following her.  A   
photo shoot gives our mystery man too much opportunity to get what he needs and move on.”    
Remington handed both proposals to Laura.  “What do you think?”  
  
She sat at his desk, perusing them with care.  At last, she had to agree with her husband.  “I absolutely   
love Carstairs’ proposal.  If we weren’t trying to flush out a perp, I’d take it in a moment.  But for now,   
we need Janet’s abilities.”  Laura tapped her pen on the paper.  “Maybe we can ask Carstairs to do it   
next year at some point.”  
  
Ian sighed.  “Yeah.  Think I can slide a pair of tickets to the LA Rams' next game to him?  I’d like to   
keep him on our good side.”   
  
Mr. Steele gave him a wry look.  “We certainly won’t be using them for the rest of the season.  Take   
your pick, and keep a pair for yourself since you get to call all the other reporters too and give them the   
bad news.”   
  
“Yes, sir.”  Ian nodded happily and took off to his desk.  
  
Remington perched on the edge of his own and dialed Janet’s number.  As he did, Laura set her feet on   
his desk and propped her hands on her swollen belly while he made his call.   
  
“Ms. Hawkins, Steele here. … Yes, we’ve taken a look at your proposal.  Mrs. Steele and I are quite   
taken with it.  Think we can get started on Monday morning?  … Of course.  Tuesday then.  Can you be   
here by ten? … Excellent.  We’ll see you then.”   
  
While he talked, she let her eyes trail across his physique, taking in the elegant lines of his suit, the line of  
his jaw, the inevitable lock of hair dropping over his brow.  When he used only his first two fingers to set   
the phone on its cradle, she admired that graceful gesture too.   
  
“Don’t look at me that way, Laura, unless I can take you up on the offer.”  
  
“What way?”  
  
“As if I’m your mid-afternoon snack.”  
  
“For you, wouldn’t it be high tea?”  
  
“So, now I’m tea and crumpets?”  
  
Laura snickered at his pretended outrage.  “I was thinking more along the lines of those little iced cakes--  
impossibly rich, tempting as sin, and tasting absolutely sumptuous.”  
  
“Oh, well now.”  He leaned across the desk and brushed a hand along her cheek.  “In that case, I’m   
quite available to the lady of the house.”   
  
Their lips met in a kiss, only to be interrupted by a knock on the door.   
  
“Laura, do we or do we not own our own business?”  
  
“We do.”  
  
“Then why is it that I cannot seem to have a moment of romance with you without interruption?”  
  
“That, Mr. Steele, is the ultimate mystery.”   
  
Shaking his head, he stood.  “Come in.”  
  
Siobhán appeared in the doorway.  “I’m hungry.”  
  
Laura propped her chin on her elbow.  “Me too.  I’m done with my work.  Think we can go over the   
schedule this evening, Mr. Steele?”  
  
He speared a lascivious glance in her direction.  “Certainly, Mrs. Steele.  We can do … that.”

 

 


	16. Interlude

_Wednesday, 24 November 1988 -- 34 weeks, 6 days_  
  
Fred delivered the Michaels family shortly before dinner.  By some miracle, the twins had napped on the   
plane and now skittered across the penthouse in delight.  Siobhán led the pair into the new playroom to   
discover the toys stocked there. Shrieks of delight echoed while Kate and Laura exchanged hugs and   
smiles at the door.   
  
Murphy eyeballed Laura’s belly as he dropped the luggage on the floor.  “Good God, Laura, what have   
you been eating?”  
  
As the only man alive who could say that and still live, she laughed and quipped, “Remington’s   
cooking.”  She dropped a kiss on Murphy’s cheek in welcome.  
  
Kate looked her up and down.  “He must be a damned good cook.”  
  
The man in question gave his sister-in-law a kiss on both cheeks before reaching around her to shake   
hands with Murphy.  “Naturally,” he remarked.  
  
Murphy rose as well.  “Are we still talking about your abilities in the kitchen?”  
  
Remington glanced at Laura before placing his arm around her shoulders with a grin.  “You can take that   
however you would like, mate.”  
  
  
  
In the evening while Kate and Laura bathed the twins, Remington directed Murphy out to the terrace to   
fill him in on the mysterious photographs he’d received.  
  
“Three sets and no other indications of a threat.  I don’t like it, Steele.”  
  
“Nor do I.  But I have nothing else to go on.”  
  
“How did Laura react?”  
  
Remington humphed.  “You know her as well as I do.”  
  
“Ahh.  Then I’ll assume you tread carefully around any sort of discussion about making sure she doesn’t   
unnecessarily expose herself to danger.”  
  
The dark-haired man gave him an equally dark look and didn’t say anything.   
  
Murphy roared with laughter.  “What’d you do, Steele?  Oh wait, don’t tell me--”  He shook his head as   
he thought for a moment.  “Oh hell, surely you didn’t try to keep her under lock and key.”  Remington’s   
expression stayed neutral as if he hadn’t heard his brother-in-law’s remark.  Murphy grinned.  “Damn,   
Steele, I thought you were smarter than that.”  
  
Very softly, Remington asked, “What would you have done?”   
  
His distress must have come through to the other man because Murphy shifted to lean against the railing,   
his expression growing serious.  “Probably the same.  But I’ll deny it if you tell on me.  What are you   
going to do now?” Murphy asked.   
  
Remington didn’t miss the hard look in the other man’s eyes and discovered he was grateful for its   
presence.  He ran through the plan for the following week.   
  
Murphy nodded in agreement.  “It might work.  It’s bold, ambitious--no offense to you--but it’s pure   
Laura.”  
  
“That it is, mate.”  
  
“It might work.  Think you can identify your stalker?”  
  
Remington flashed a cunning grin.  “I’ve got a little something to ensure it.”   
  
But no matter how hard Murphy pressed, Remington only shook his head and changed the subject.   
  
  
  
Thursday bore no little resemblance to chaos as the family gathered at the Piper residence for   
Thanksgiving.  Remington still had charge of the turkey, but Frances handled the rest of the trimmings.    
No one walked away from the table less than absolutely stuffed.   
  
The twins very nearly collapsed on the floor that afternoon from pure exhaustion, and they napped all   
heaped together on either side of Laura.  She’d nearly fallen asleep on the sofa before Remington gently   
insisted she lay on the bed.  Ian already slept as Kate laid him down next to his aunt, and Aiden snuggled   
in without compunction.   
  
Danny and Siobhán held a rematch of Super Mario 2 on the Nintendo in the living room.  Despite   
himself, Remington found himself engaged by the little figures and kept one eye on the screen as he   
conversed with Abigail about Laura’s last visit with her obstetrician.   
  
That evening the whole family watched as the Houston Oilers defeated the Dallas Cowboys, 25-17.  A   
weary crew headed back to the penthouse with a couple of overtired boys who whined all the way home.   
  
  
  
Friday morning dawned.  Laura found her sister covering a telephone book sitting on a dining room chair   
with a dishtowel before setting Aiden on top and placing his breakfast in front of him.  
  
“Good morning.  Where’s Ian?” Laura asked.  
  
Kate met her in a tight hug before answering, “He crawled in bed with us when Aiden came in.  He went   
back to sleep on Murphy.”  
  
Laura smiled. “I’m getting impatient, Kate.  I want this baby to get here.”  
  
Her sister grinned.  “The last few weeks seem to take twice as long as the other eight months.”  
  
“Are you still coming when I go into labor?”  
  
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Kate assured her.  
  
“Good.  Rei’s going to be absolutely useless.  He panics,” Laura told her matter-of-factly.  
  
Kate snickered.  “Remington?  Somehow I can’t see that.”  
  
“Believe me, your biggest job is going to be to nail his feet to the floor, or he’ll be in Tahiti by the time   
this baby is born.”   
  
“Good to know.”   
  
Dinner that evening turned out to be messy, about thirty minutes late, and a great deal of fun.  When the   
twins showed signs of being overwhelmed by all the activity, Kate set them up for a short twenty minutes   
with their favorite show about a large purple dinosaur while the finishing touches were put on dinner.   
  
  
  
Friday morning, Siobhán and Kate disappeared early.  Laura pretended not to notice but felt sure the pair   
had gone with Frances to make last minute plans for the baby shower scheduled for the next day.   
  
Murphy took the boys to the park just downstairs while Remington and Laura headed for her now-  
weekly doctor’s appointment.   
  
Dr. Berger admonished her to take it easy as her blood pressure showed signs of being elevated.   
  
Remington made her stay on the sofa for the rest of the day.   
  
  
  
On Saturday, both families trekked out to Abigail’s house where the baby shower had been set up.    
Mildred and Sandra from the agency, along with Barbara and two other of Laura’s girlfriends from   
college, joined Siobhán, the three sisters and their mom for the party.  Mindy and Laurie Beth sat at   
Laura’s feet and watched with wide-eyed delight.  
  
Remington leaned against the arch of the kitchen, watching the scene unfold.  The faint blush in Laura’s   
cheeks told of her delight.  He shot her a slight arched brow as Kate and Frances set up a silly game   
involving clothespins.  Her eyes swept down, and she flushed all the more from the attention.   
  
Murphy tapped him on the shoulder.  “Had enough estrogen?”  
  
“Sure thing, mate.”  
  
“Come on.  We’ll take Danny and the twins to the park a couple of streets over.  We’ll throw a football   
around and let the kids burn off energy.”  
  
Remington nodded absentmindedly, his eyes still on Laura.  When she looked up, he winked at her   
before turning to follow Murphy.  
  
  
  
Remington, Murphy, Donald and Danny took turns rescuing almost-two-year olds from nearly   
everything.  First, the boys scampered straight for the little pond, getting their shoes muddy as they stood   
on the edge and tried to fall in as they hunted for rocks and pointed at the pretty fish.   
  
Then they climbed the playground fort meant for the older kids and shrieked in terror when they were   
too high to climb down.  Remington skimmed up the side and handed them down one by one to   
Murphy.  As their dad set them gently on the ground, each one promptly shot off to the enormous slide   
in the middle of the park.  At the top of the ladder, Ian refused to slide down, so Aiden crawled over him   
and went down head first.  Of course, Ian thought that was hysterical and flew down after him in the   
same way.   
  
Danny had to climb inside the maze of tunnels and pull one of them out when he got lost in the twists   
and turns.   
  
Three times the men tried to continue the conversation about the investigation, but keeping an eye on the   
boys proved to be a bigger challenge than Remington imagined.   
  
“Bloody hell, mate.  Don’t they make parks that are safe for children?”  
  
Donald snorted in amusement, and Murphy replied, “This is a safe park.  For girls maybe.  Or a shy   
boy.  Or somebody’s lame perception of what children should be doing.”  Murphy scanned the play   
area.  “Where’s Aiden?”  
  
“There.”  Remington pointed to a pair of red sneakers poking out from behind an enormous tic-tac-toe   
board making up a wall of the fort.  “Maybe we should rethink going to the beach next summer.”  
  
Murphy shot up eyebrows.  “I’m not taking them.  They’ll be shark bait before I have a chance to set   
down the cooler.  Don’t know why Kate thinks we should have a bigger family.”  
  
Danny shook free of the little guys and tossed his football straight in the air in a poorly-disguised hint.    
His dad held out his hands, but his son shook his head, wanting  to pass the ball to Murphy.   
  
Donald grinned and waved a thumb in Danny’s direction.  “Thinking about adding on?”  
  
Murphy blew out a breath and held out his hands to catch the ball his nephew launched with a decent   
accuracy.  “Kate wants one more.  I’m not sure I’m going to survive these two.  What if we get twins   
again?”  
  
“How close is she to talking you into it?” Remington asked.  
  
Murphy shook his head and winged the ball to Danny.  “I thought I had drawn the line, but seeing Laura   
pregnant is pretty damned surreal, Steele.  I think I get why you always stared at Katy when she carried   
the twins.”   
  
Remington reached over and bopped him on the back of the head.  “Stop looking at my wife, mate.”  
  
“Aw, crap.  Yeah, I deserve that.  She’s really lovely though.”  Murphy stuffed his hands into his   
pockets as Remington fielded Danny’s throw this time.  “I didn’t think Laura would find someone she’d   
want kids with.  I sure as hell didn’t expect it to be you.”  
  
“What did you think?”  Remington set his fingers on the laces and threw the ball in a fair spiral.  He   
frowned after it as it wobbled a bit too much.  
  
Donald listened avidly to the exchange as he kept an eye on his nephews.  
  
“I figured if you two did hook up, it would always be just the two of you.  You know … being the   
internationally famous Steeles.  Didn’t think you were the type to want to settle down and have kids.”  
  
Remington found a toothpick in his pocket and set it in his mouth to nibble on it.  “I didn’t.”    
  
Both of his brothers looked up in surprise, then Murphy sidestepped to catch the ball again.   
  
With a Gallic shrug to a shoulder, Remington gave a rare explanation.  “When I look at Laura, I want the   
whole package--wife, home, kids.  Maybe not the house in the suburbs.”  He gave them a toothy grin as   
Murphy fired another pass to Danny.  “But all the rest, aye.  I want it just as a drunken sailor wants his   
next pint.”  
  
The twins scampered to them, babbling about the swings on the far side of the park.  Donald scooped up   
Ian and settled him about his shoulders for a quick ride.  Remington copied him, only to discover that a   
firm hold on Aiden’s ankles was necessary--both to keep the little tyke in place and to stop the heels of   
the tiny sneakers from kicking his chest mercilessly.  
  
Murphy and Danny threw passes back and forth as they walked.   
  
“Kid’s got a good arm, Donald.  Don’t let that go to waste.”  
  
“Why do you think he wants to throw with you whenever you come?”  
  
Remington didn’t miss the admiring glances from a pair of moms chatting on the bench but ignored them   
as he settled Aiden into the toddler swing near his twin.   
  
“ ’wing! ’wing!” yelled Ian.  Aiden only grinned maniacally when Danny stationed himself between the   
twins to push both of them.   
  
With the boys content for the moment, Remington squinted in the late November sun and reached for his   
sunglasses.  Murphy copied him.   
  
“So, tell me more about these photographs.”  
  
“What photographs?” demanded Donald.  
  
Remington gave him a quick rundown on the events before answering Murphy’s question.  “I’ll show   
them to you, but damned if I have any ideas yet.  Whoever is sending them has me baffled.  All I can tell   
you is that he’s a bloody good photographer and knows how to cover his tracks.  Neither Kaleb nor   
Sandra has managed to spot the bloke, so I’m guessing we’re dealing with someone with enough sense to   
disguise himself.”  
  
Murphy crossed his arms in thought.  “Damn.”   
  
When Donald crossed to the water fountain for a drink, Murphy asked in a low voice.  “None of this is   
related to Siobhán?”  
  
“Not that I can tell.  Buchanan’s done a thorough check, and no one seems to have traced her--assuming   
they even know about her.  If she was the target, I can’t imagine why someone would send pictures of   
Laura--or me for that matter.”  
  
The blonde man nodded.  “I have to agree.  I don’t think Siobhán’s the key here.  Do you want me to   
stick around next week?”  
  
Remington paused.  His first instinct insisted he agree to the offer, but his brother-in-law had a family and  
his own business to run.  “Thanks for the offer, Michaels.  We’ll manage.  If the stakes rise, I’ll take you   
up on it.”  
  
“Do.  Laura’s getting too close for anyone to take chances.”  
  
“Aye, don’t I know it.”   
  
At that moment, the twins began wiggling out of their swings.  Danny had his hands full trying to keep   
one or both of them from falling on his head.  Murphy and Remington rescued him while Donald looked   
on in amusement.  
  
With a practiced eye, the twins’ father gave them a two-minute warning.   
  
Ian instantly began crying, and Aiden darted off to scale the slide once more with Danny in tow this   
time.  Murphy scooped the tired little boy into his arms.  Ian crammed three fingers into his mouth and   
rested his head on his dad’s broad shoulder.   
  
Two more trips down the slide and Danny managed to entice Aiden away from the park.  Remington   
picked up the little boy to carry him to the car.  Danny walked beside him, carrying the ball.   
  
“Uncle Remington?”   
  
  
He looked down, amused that Danny must have decided that he was too old to call him “Unca Remy” as   
his sisters did.   
  
“Why didn’t we meet Siobhán before this summer?”  
  
He felt Murphy and Donald’s eyes on him, but he didn’t look up.  “She lived in Ireland, mate.  It’s a long   
way from here.”   
  
“But you guys travel all the time.”  
  
“We went to Ireland a couple of years ago if you’ll remember.”  Remington grasped at straws trying not   
to lie to the boy.   
  
“But you never told any of us about her,” Danny insisted.  
  
At last, Remington passed Aiden to Donald.  With his hands in his pockets, he faced the boy.  “Danny,   
there’s a great deal to Siobhán’s story.  It’s not time for you to know it yet.  She’s been through a great   
deal this year.  She’s safe and happy now; I’d like to keep it that way.  You can be assured that Laura   
and I love her and want to make her a home here.  If I had been given the opportunity, I would have   
taken her in at any time.”   
  
The young teen frowned at him.  “I don’t get it.”  
  
“I know, mate.  But you’re asking the right questions.  I just can’t answer them yet.  Give it a few years,   
and I’ll be able to do that.”   
  
Suspiciously, Danny nodded.  “You promise?”  
  
“I promise, Danny.”  Remington didn't miss Donald's quick glance at Murphy, who returned a curt nod.    
By that Remington knew that if he didn't make the proper explanations later to Donald, Murphy would   
be filling in his brother-in-law for him.  
  
The boy looked at his shoes and kicked a twig out of the way.  “ ’kay.”  
  
"Thanks, mate."  With his arm around the lad, Remington and the rest of the men headed for Abigail’s   
home.  He wasn't looking forward to coming clean with Donald--but in the interest of family relations, it   
had to be done.  
  
  
  
Ian sagged on Donald’s shoulder, chattering happily at his brother, who did the same on Murphy’s arm.    
As soon as the front door opened, the twins darted for Kate and swarmed over her.  Ian instantly burst   
into tears as he explained in toddlerese about his “boo” while pointing to his scuffed knee.  Aiden sent up   
sympathetic wails and climbed on top of Kate.  
  
“What happened, Murphy?” she demanded as she hugged Aiden for a moment before setting him on his   
feet and giving Ian’s knee a kiss.   
  
“I don’t know, Kate.  I swear; this is the first I knew he'd fallen on it.”  
  
Kate gave Remington a hard look; he merely shrugged and pointed at Murphy.  “I’m the back up.  He   
was in charge.”  
  
Mournfully, Murphy watched Kate take the kids to the bathroom.  Donald eased out of the room with   
Danny, and Laura laughed from her chair in the living room where she was surrounded by a pile of   
unopened gifts.  
  
Murphy scowled at his brother-in-law as he came up with a cola from the refrigerator.  “Thanks for   
throwing me to the wolves, Steele.  I’ll remember that in a couple of years.”   
  
  
  
The girls had just finished decimating the better part of an Italian cream cake by the time the boys   
arrived, and Mildred urged Laura to open her gifts.  Two of them, the baby swing from her mom and the   
stroller from Frances, already sat nearby--fully assembled.  Remington ran a finger along the hard plastic   
as he dropped a kiss in Laura’s hair and sat on the arm of her chair.   
  
“Want to help?” she asked, handing him a blue-and-pink-wrapped gift.  
  
“No.  ’Tis for you to do.”  
  
She just looked at him.  Reluctantly, he reached for the present and began pulling ribbon from the   
package.   
  
“Thank God,” quipped Kate from her place on the floor where she had stationed herself to assist.  “If we   
waited for Laura to open everything, the baby would be born by the time she’s done.”   
  
Laura made a dirty face at her sister and then a show of meticulously unwrapping the first gift.  “I like   
taking my time.  The best things in life are worth the wait.”  
  
“Yes, love, but you have a tendency to take it to the extreme,” Remington said under his breath.   
  
“Oh, are you implying that you are one of those things?” Laura quipped sotto voce.  
  
“If I’m less than the best, then I’d hate to see how long the perfect bloke would have had to wait.”  
  
With a half-smile turning up the corner of her mouth, Laura leaned into his leg, and together the   
expectant parents unwrapped the gifts.  Infant clothes of all sizes, diapers, burp cloths and blankets that   
complemented the circus motif of the nursery, along with a CD of lullabies and a baby monitor, piled   
onto the table in front of them.   
  
  
After the last gift had been passed around and admired, the guests packed up their belongings.  Mildred   
lingered long enough to help Frances and Abigail clean up the kitchen.  Kate and Siobhán tackled the   
wrapping paper while the three men carried the gifts out to the car.  
  
Laura wondered what was taking them so long--she hadn't received that many presents.  
  
“All this fuss for a baby,” complained Danny to his mom.   
  
“Danny, it’s tradition.  Plus, you guys need a lot of stuff when you’re little.  Those of us who don’t have   
babies anymore enjoy getting to shop for them again.”   
  
The boy shrugged and shook his head.  Kate tapped him lightly in the shoulder.  “It’s a girl thing.  Don’t   
even try to understand.”   
  
When the men finally returned from packing up the car, Laura didn't miss Donald's thoughtful expression   
nor Remington's discomfort.  Murphy whistled as he found Kate in the kitchen and gave her a smacking   
kiss on the lips.  But with all that occurred that day, Laura forgot to ask Remington about it later.  
  
  
  
On Sunday, the Steeles waved goodbye as Fred escorted the Michaels family back to the airport.    
Afterward, Laura carefully unpacked the new gifts, situating the baby swing in the nursery.  Remington   
played with the stroller while Siobhán stacked diapers into the cubby of the changing table.   
  
“Leave some out for the baby bag,” Laura instructed Siobhán.  
  
“Baby bag?” echoed Remington.  
  
Laura held up a black-and-cream-colored tote.  She placed diapers, a blanket, wipes and a burp cloth   
inside.  “What else should go in?”  
  
Siobhán tilted her head.  “Maybe a couple of outfits?”  
  
“Sounds good.”  Laura picked out two and stuffed them inside before handing the bag to Remington.   
  
He held it by his fingertips. “What am I supposed to do with this?”  
  
“Da, if you take the baby anywhere, you have to have the baby’s stuff.  Even I know that,” Siobhán said   
with a touch of sarcasm.  
  
“But it looks like a purse.”  
  
“Trust me, love,” said Laura, “with a baby in tow, I don’t think anyone will mistake it for a purse.  Just   
don’t forget and leave the baby behind somewhere, or you’ll get quite a few very odd looks.”

 

 


	17. The Setup

_Monday, 29 November 1988 -- 35 weeks, 4 days  
  
_ Remington paced Laura’s office as they bantered ideas back and forth for the coming week.  They each   
had to cram a week’s worth of work into Monday and Friday to free up the three days for their sting   
operation.  They’d come in together that morning and had been hard at it for nearly three hours already.    
Sometimes Laura forgot exactly how much they could accomplish together when they both put forth the   
effort.  The reminder always put a smile on her face.  
  
The phone buzzed.  Remington leaned over to answer the intercom.  “Yes, Ian?”  
  
“There’s a gentleman who says he’s Siobhán’s solicitor on the line, a Mr. Jonathan Andrews.”  
  
“Tell him I’ll only be a moment.”  
  
Laura looked up.  “Carlisle’s solicitor?”  They’d only received a brief letter of introduction, along with   
contact information, since Siobhán’s adoption had been finalized.  
  
“Apparently.”  Remington wasted no time getting back to his office to take the call.  In the meantime,   
Laura retrieved her messages from Ian and checked in with the other detectives to pick up case files to   
review.  With a stack of files in hand, she retreated to her desk to return the two calls.  
  
Some thirty minutes later, Remington came back in, his expression a little too cool for her comfort.  
  
“Is everything all right?”  
  
“Ah, perhaps.  It appears that Mr. Anderson has won Siobhán the right to retrieve a few personal items   
from Carlisle’s house--her clothes, photographs, papers, mementos and the like.”  
  
Laura leaned back in her chair.  “Is that unusual?”  
  
“It can be.  Her solicitor seems to be rather sharp, in any case.  The court will have its representative on   
hand, of course, to ensure she doesn’t depart with anything unusually valuable--but Anderson leads me to   
believe anything considered ‘reasonable’ for a fifteen-year-old to have will be allowed.  They’ve already   
inventoried the house, so I’m sure we’ll have to tread carefully.”  He slipped a toothpick into his mouth   
before continuing.  “There’s more.”  
  
Laura’s eyebrows flew up at his obvious discomfort.  “Yes?”  
  
“Obviously, O’Callaghan hasn’t left anything to Siobhán, knowing she wasn’t his; but apparently, Erin   
has a handful of items that belong to Siobhán.  Anderson’s been unraveling the details of that aspect of   
inheritance as well.  There won’t be any money or property from that side, but he’s located a trunk of   
things that belonged to Siobhán stashed away in that bloody castle.”  
  
Laura took a deep breath before blowing it out.  “When do we need to go get these things?”  
  
“Ah, there’s the rub.  We have only the next two weeks.”  
  
Her jaw dropped.  “Now?  But I can’t fly.”  
  
Remington came over to lean against her desk.  “Siobhán and I can leave Friday morning.  She’ll have to   
miss a few days of school, but we can be in Dublin by early Saturday morning.  The representative will   
meet us at Carlisle’s estate.  We’ll have Saturday and Sunday to pack what she wants to keep.  Monday   
we’ll fly to Cork to retrieve Erin’s things.  Tuesday we’ll catch a plane home.”  
  
Uneasy about the whole situation, Laura asked, “What about the media?”  
  
“We’ll give them the three days--Tuesday through Thursday.  If we haven’t caught the bugger by Friday,   
I’ll ask you to stay with Frances this weekend.  I don’t want you alone, Laura.  Not now.”  He drew his   
fingers along a lock of her hair.  
  
She drew her brows together and picked at her nails.  “But Ireland?” she said softly without looking at   
him.  “Are you ready for that?”  
  
“No.”  Looking up, she saw his troubled expression.  “I wasn’t sure if I’d ever go back--not to Johnny’s,   
not ever to Cork.  Maybe not even Ashford Castle.”  He shook his head.  
  
“Perhaps--” she started, but he cut her off.  
  
“Don’t even think about it, Laura.  I’m not risking you by putting you on an airplane for twelve  
hours--even if you found an airline you could bamboozle into letting you aboard.  It’s going to be a short,   
hard trip for both of us.  I’m sure Siobhán will be exhausted by the time we get back.”  He rubbed the   
back of his neck, waiting for her response.  
  
She stood, pacing and rubbing her arms to indicate her discomfort.  “I don’t like it, Rei.  I’d rather be   
with you if you have to go.”  
  
He came up behind her, sliding his arms around her middle.  “I know.  I’d rather have you with me.”  
  
She leaned her head back against his chest.  “Rei, this is the only time I’ve resented being pregnant.  I   
don’t like this.  I need to be there for you.  I need to be there for Siobhán.  This won’t be easy on either   
of you.”  
  
“I know, love, but right now, I need you to take care of one child while I take care of the other,”   
Remington said simply.  
  
Laura dragged her hands through her hair before turning in his arms to look into his blue eyes.  “That   
was well put.”  She tugged his head to hers to kiss his lips.  “I can do that.  Just promise me that we’ll   
talk when you get back.  No closing me out for my own good.”  
  
“That I will promise.”  He landed another kiss on her mouth, drawing it out with sweetness.  “Now that I   
have absolutely no desire to work at the moment, may I take you to lunch, Mrs. Steele?”  
  
“I wasn’t aware you ever had the desire to work, Mr. Steele.”     
  
“Oh, occasionally.  On the odd Wednesday afternoon when there isn’t anything playing at the cinema.”  
  
She laughed.  “I’ll remember to schedule you then.”  
  
  
  
Remington and Laura worked late that night.  Remington had picked up Siobhán and brought her back to   
the office after school.   They stopped at a little steakhouse Laura preferred for dinner.  Over dessert,   
Remington told Siobhán about the phone call he’d received from her solicitor.  
  
“Johnny hired someone to do that?”  She seemed surprised and straightened in her chair.  
  
“Mm … yes.  My apologies.  I thought I’d mentioned it to you.”  
  
Siobhán shrugged and toyed with an uneaten mushroom on her plate.  “I don’t remember.  Do we have   
to go?”  
  
He gave a short nod.  “It’s your only chance, a stór.  It’s likely that a great many things of Johnny’s will   
be sent to auction.  If there is anything precious to you, this is your only chance to retrieve it.  Besides,   
there’s a trunk of your things your mother saved for you.  You might not want to let that go.”  
  
After a long silence, she asked, “When do we leave?”  
  
“Friday morning.  You’ll miss school, but Laura’s already cleared it with the principal.  We’ll come back   
on Tuesday.”  
  
Siobhán threw Laura a nervous look.  “Mom?  What about you?  I want you to go.”  
  
Remington watched as Laura drew in an uneasy breath.  “I know, sweetie, but I can’t fly this close to   
having the baby,” she said.  “The change in air pressure can cause problems.  Da will be with you.”  She   
lifted her hand and stroked Siobhán’s hair, much as he often did with her.  “Think of it as an adventure.    
I imagine you two will breeze through the packing and have a chance to have a little fun.”  
  
Siobhán slumped in her chair, giving her fork a little shove so that it clattered on the plate.  “I don’t want   
to go back.”  She pushed her chair back and bolted for the front door.  
  
Remington exchanged a quick look with Laura, acknowledging that he would be the one to talk with the   
girl, before going after her.  
       
Siobhán walked along the entryway of the restaurant, holding herself as tears tracked down her cheeks.    
“Please don’t make me go, Da,” she said when she saw him.  
  
He wrapped her up in a warm embrace, and she unfolded to cling tightly to him. When she calmed, he   
asked, “What has you frightened, _a stór_?  Surely you don’t think I’ll leave you there?”  
  
Her breath hitched.  “You promise?”  
  
Remington took her by the shoulders.  “What part of ‘you are mine’ do you not understand, Siobhán?    
You are my daughter now and always.  Nothing and no one will change that.  I will not leave you.”  
  
From behind him, Laura added, “If he did, I’d come get you.  We could murder him together.  I know of   
a couple of great places to hide the body.”  
  
Siobhán’s horrified snicker broke up her distress.  “Mom!”  
  
Laura cocked her head.  “You really don’t want to go?”  The girl shook her head.  “Then don’t go.  But   
your Da will be stuck going through your things by himself.  He’ll probably steal all your cookbooks and   
leave every precious photograph behind.”  
  
“Photos?”  
  
He nodded.  “I was rather hoping you would have baby pictures somewhere.”  His heart ached as he   
watched her struggle with the decision.  As much as he half hoped she would refuse to go, he knew he   
would have to fly to Ireland regardless.  But confronting his own demons without Laura there gave him   
the jitters.  Leveling his gaze at Siobhán, he added, “I haven’t stepped foot in the house in nearly three   
decades.  The idea makes me a little nervous, Siobhán.  I’d rather not go alone.”  
       
“You?  Nervous?  You’re not afraid of anything.”  
  
Remington said nothing to that, only met Laura’s darkened eyes as he tugged Siobhán into another tight   
hug.  
  
  
Late that evening, long after Siobhán should have been asleep, she wandered into the home office where   
her parents sketched out an agenda for the next three days.  
  
Da paced the small office while Mom sat at the huge desk with a notepad and pen.  “You’ll be in disguise   
from Tuesday afternoon until Thursday morning except for the brief meeting on Wednesday with the   
museum,” her mom was saying.  “What will you dress as?”  
  
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he quipped.  
  
“Mr. Steele--”  
  
Siobhán eased into the room.  “Mom?  Da?”  They looked up, surprised, it seemed, that she was still   
awake.  She took a deep breath.  “I’ll go to Ireland.  I guess there are a few things I’d like to have.”  
  
Only the ticking of the clock could be heard for a few seconds.  “Are you all right with that?” Mom   
asked.  
  
She nodded.  “I am.”  It took another few moments to dig up her courage.  “I don’t … I don’t really   
think you guys would leave me there.  It’s just that … I really like it here and … and I don’t like thinking   
about what it was like before.”  She hardly realized she was twisting a lock of hair until Da reached over   
and tucked it behind her ear.  
  
“We understand that Siobhán,” he said.  “We won’t force you to go, but I won’t deny it will be a great   
deal easier if you do.”  
  
“I’ll go.  I think I should.”  
  
Da nodded, and Mom pushed up out of her chair to put her hands on either side of her face.  “You’re   
sure?”  She nodded.  “Good.  I think you should go too.  But I’ll be very glad when both of you come   
home.”  
  
Feeling better, Siobhán nodded, kissed both of her parents on the cheek, and then wandered off to bed.

 

 

 


	18. Execution

_Tuesday, 30 November 1988 -- 35 weeks, 5 days  
  
_ For the next three days, after initial interviews with Ian and the agency’s detectives, Laura and Janet   
covered what seemed to be most of the city of Los Angeles.  
  
While Remington assumed various guises and snapped discrete photos of anyone in the vicinity, Laura   
took Janet on a fictional trail of clues, making stops at the coroner’s office, photo lab, and police   
departments along the way.  At each place, Janet conducted a detailed interview, asking how the business   
played a role in providing information to the detective.  
  
Laura also reminisced about various cases, pointing out the park where they recovered a diamond   
necklace, the Channel 3 TV studio from which Janet hailed and the Steeles uncovered a murderer on live   
television several years ago, and the yacht slip where the Steeles “discovered” a gambling operation.  The  
fact that Daniel and Remington had set it up to flush out a murderer didn’t seem important enough to   
point out to Janet--but it did provide another handy location to trot the cameras out and hold another   
brief interview.  
  
  
It wasn’t until the third stop on Tuesday that Laura spied Remington dressed as an auto mechanic as he   
pretended to mess with the engine of a random car parked on the street.  She nearly lost her train of   
thought when he pulled out a spark plug and held it up to the sun.  
  
She’d never figured out exactly how much he knew about cars, but he noticed her lapse and concealed a   
grin as he bent under the hood again.  
  
Janet helped by asking another question.  “Laura, tell us how the agency has changed in the past five   
years.”  
  
 _Boy, that’s a loaded question!_  “As you know, Mr. Steele and I developed a partnership after the first   
few years.  We still prefer to work together whenever possible.  As we’ve grown, we’ve added three   
detectives to our arsenal.  Mildred Krebs has been a boon to our agency since she began five years ago--  
giving us a solid reputation for solving white collar crimes.  The security side of our business has grown   
exponentially as well.  Mr. Steele personally designs the security systems and has become an innovative   
industry leader in outwitting potential thieves.”  
  
“What about you, Mrs. Steele?  How has your role changed?”  
  
Laura had spent a great deal of time thinking of ways to field that question when it came.  “When   
Remington Steele Investigations opened, Mr. Steele relied on me heavily for the day-to-day operations of   
the agency--the bread and butter clients, if you will.  Within a few years, we partnered on nearly every   
case.  In the last two years though, as we’ve expanded, I’ve taken on the bulk of supervising the new   
agents.  Mr. Steele has focused on the security side of the business.  We still take on the toughest of   
cases together and love every minute of it.”  
  
“With Mr. Steele’s daughter living with you, what kinds of changes have you made to accommodate   
her?” Janet asked.  
  
“We’re parents first.  Our daughter means everything to us.  We schedule our days to allow for school   
and other events.  It’s a balancing act, but one that we gladly take on.”  With humor, she added, “I think   
we get a little less sleep and worry a little more, but that comes with the territory.  I don’t imagine that   
will be getting any better any time soon.”  She looked down at her belly, and Janet had to stifle a laugh.  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the answering gleam in Remington’s as he overheard the exchange.  
  
  
  
Wednesday was easier as Laura had seen his “Johnny Todd” character several times before, but   
Thursday morning had her stumped.  Whatever disguise he wore fooled her completely.  
  
When he met her at the penthouse after picking up Siobhán from school that afternoon, he wore his usual   
elegant suit and had shaved away his afternoon shadow of a beard in preparation for the photo session.    
Siobhán dashed into her room for a change of clothes and to freshen up.  
  
Laura had worried that Siobhán might resent being “used” for a publicity photograph, but her daughter   
had come to adore having her picture taken.  From time to time, Remington would pull out his own   
camera to take pictures of his “two girls.”  His favorite hung on the wall of their bedroom--one where   
they had been at the beach at the end of the summer.  Laura had worn a white swimsuit at his request.    
She’d sat on the sand, stretching out her legs as she tilted her face to the sun and let her hair stream   
down her back in riotous waves.  
  
He’d told her he’d intended to take one outrageously sexy picture of her while pregnant.  But while Laura  
settled on the beach, Siobhán had asked to touch her belly for the first time.  At Laura’s nod, she’d sat   
down on the sand with her legs off to one side and delicately laid a hand on her mom's rounding tummy.    
Siobhán’s hair had blown to the side and streamed down in its own mass of curls.  
  
Remington had personally developed the image in the darkroom he set up in their bathroom and had it   
framed.  More than once Laura had found him studying it with a curious curve to his lips.  Fascinated by   
the sheer beauty of the portrait, Siobhán had asked for her own copy and kept it in a smaller frame on   
her desk.  
         
Now the trio posed comfortably for Janet’s crew in their own living room.  
  
When they finished, Laura crossed to shake hands with the reporter. “Janet, this has been a lovely   
experience.  I look forward to your show.”  
  
“It should air on Wednesday morning.  It’s a slow news week, and this will spark quite a bit of interest   
before the holiday.  We’re thrilled to work with you.”  
  
“And I with you.  We look forward to the follow-up in the spring.”  
  
As soon as Remington returned from seeing the reporter and camera crew to their car, he and Siobhán   
began packing for their trip.  The doorman buzzed them a few moments later.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“A Mr. Roselli to see you.”  
  
“Send him up.”  
  
Laura wasn’t happy having him back in their home, but they’d needed his help again getting Siobhán a   
passport in her new name on such short notice.  The elevator opened.  Tony Roselli strode into the foyer   
wearing jeans and a scuffed brown bomber jacket.  
  
Remington walked up behind Laura just as she opened the foyer doors.  Remington's voice was hard.    
“Antony.”  
  
“Steele.”  They didn’t bother shaking hands, exchanging curt nods instead.  
  
Laura sighed.  These two men would always have a certain amount of animosity between them.  Not that   
she could blame either of them.  Tony wasn’t exactly her favorite person either.  
  
“What’s with the news team?  Can’t get enough of the limelight, Steele?”  
  
Laura crossed her arms.  “Don’t start.  Do us all a favor and try to remember that we own a detective   
agency.  Things aren’t always as they appear.”  
  
“Yeah.  I got that one already,” Roselli muttered.  Then he looked hard at her figure.  “Good God,   
Laura.  Do you really think this is a good time for Steele to take a little side trip?”  
  
She glared at him.  “As a matter of fact, no, I don’t.  But none of us had much say in the matter.  Did   
you bring her passport?”  
  
“I did.”  He withdrew it from his coat pocket, and Laura took it from him.  
  
“Siobhán Elspeth Steele,” she read aloud as the owner of that name wandered out.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
Tony did a double-take.  Laura realized he hadn’t seen the teen since she’d had her little makeover and   
gained a great deal of confidence.  With a burnished tan, spiraling sun-streaked light brown hair and   
enormous silver eyes, at five foot eight, the teen could pass for a model.    
  
“Jesus Christ, Steele,” was all he said.  
  
Remington wasn’t very discrete.  “Thank you, Antony.  We appreciate your help.  I think you’re done   
now.  Go home.”  He patted the other man firmly on the back and practically shoved him into the   
elevator.  
  
When the elevator doors closed, Siobhán turned to Laura.  “Ewww!  He thought I was cute.  And he’s   
old!”  
  
Laura began laughing helplessly as she brought her arm around Siobhán’s waist.  Remington followed suit   
on the other side.  He squeezed her shoulders as he said, “Don’t worry, _a stór_ ; I think you’ll be safe   
from his clutches.”  
  
“Can I see my passport?”  
  
“Of course.”  Laura handed her the blue ID.  
  
“Siobhán Elspeth Steele,” she repeated.  “Cool.”  She squinted up at Remington.  “Da?  We really have   
to go?”  
  
He shrugged.  “No.  I’m testament to the idea that one can travel light through life, without pictures and   
keepsakes.  However, I can tell you that from time to time I wish I had a memento or two of those who   
meant something to me.  I do treasure the ones I’ve collected in the past few years, though I doubt I’ll   
ever accumulate many.  Still, I should have liked the opportunity to pick and choose.”  
  
Grimacing, Siobhán nodded and handed the passport to him.  “I’m almost done packing, then.  Can we   
eat?  I’m starving.”  
  
“I’ll make dinner while you two finish,” Laura offered.  Remington and Siobhán exchanged apprehensive   
looks, which turned into laughter when she shook her head at both of them.  “Be nice to the chef or     
you’ll both be eating peanut butter sandwiches.”  
  
“It would be a step up from your grilled cheese.”  He stole a kiss on her cheek as she let out a short curse   
of frustration.  
  
In reality, her cooking had come a long way in nearly three years of living with Remington.  For one, the   
freshest of ingredients had a great deal to do with improving the flavor of the recipes she did know how   
to make.  For another, he kept a variety of foods such as cooked marinated chicken or turkey prepped in   
the refrigerator.  Laura could put together any number of dishes with those as a base.  Making dinner was   
still something of a chore for her, but Remington had found ways to make it less of one--partially out of   
desperation when he’d discovered that she would contentedly eat a bowl of cereal for dinner when   
cooking failed to interest her.  
  
She had learned to make a real Alfredo sauce for his birthday a couple of years ago.  She made it now to   
celebrate it again, stirring the sauce carefully as the fettuccine happily boiled.  Thinking ahead, she added   
an extra handful of pasta so she would have leftovers while they were in Ireland.  
  
“Smells fabulous, Mrs. Steele.”  
  
“Does it beat my grilled cheese?”  
  
“By a long shot, love.”  With his fingertips, he drew lightly down her neck before fastening his lips and   
sucking delicately for a moment.  Then he brushed the mark away.  “You know … I don’t think I’ve   
told anyone this, but I’m going to miss you.  We haven’t been apart for more than a night here and there   
since our wedding.  I don’t like it.”  
  
Shivering at the feel of his breath on her neck, she turned in his arms to meet his kiss.  “I don’t either.    
Especially not now,” she admitted.  
  
He leaned back as she turned away to move the sauce off the burner and drop the heat to the pasta down   
a notch.  “Laura--”  
  
She came back, putting a hand to his lips.  “It can’t be helped; I know that.  I’m glad that you two are   
going to Ireland and getting away from whoever is sending us the pictures.  We both know that this trip   
has to happen.  But I am frightened, Rei.  I’d rather be going with you--even if it means going … back.”  
  
“Will you stay with Frances this weekend?”  
  
“I’m thinking I might.  Until we have a chance to develop the pictures and figure this thing out, I          
don’t--”  She hesitated on the words.  
  
“Don’t what, Laura?”  
  
Looking anywhere but at him, she admitted, “I don’t want to be alone.”  
  
He caught her in a tight hug, made awkward because of her belly.  
  
  
  
Laura and Siobhán sang “Happy Birthday” to Remington in a quiet celebration only for the three of   
them.  The trio split the small cake Siobhán had made--beating anything Laura might attempt by several   
miles.  Siobhán gave him a tie as a father-daughter joke, but he liked it well enough to declare he’d wear   
it at the first opportunity, making Siobhán smile in delight.  Laura insisted that he couldn’t have his   
present from her until tomorrow.  After all the years of Remington's not knowing his birthdate, now that   
they had his birth certificate, she'd made a point of having a  private celebration exactly on the second of   
December.  
  
  
  
That night, Remington held Laura closer than usual after their lovemaking.  He stretched out so that his   
body touched her back side from her feet to her head.  It was the only way they could get close enough   
at this stage of her pregnancy.  With hardly six weeks to go, her belly didn’t let her lie draped across him,   
or him on her.  But this would do for now.  It reminded him of the first time they consciously shared a   
bed at Ashford Castle.  Laura had been shy about crawling under the covers with him, and they had   
nestled like this then too.  
  
For a couple of hours, Remington stayed awake, worrying about their mysterious photographer and the   
challenges to be faced in Ireland.  
  
Then Laura reached behind her and caressed his cheek.  “Go to sleep, love.  Tuesday will be here soon   
enough, and you’ll be home.”  
  
Closing his eyes, he did.

 

 


	19. Setbacks

_Friday, 2 December 1988 -- 36 weeks, 1 day  
  
_ Watching Remington and Siobhán board the airplane to Dublin mid-morning left Laura feeling bereft.    
She’d slipped her husband’s birthday present into his carry-on that morning.  She didn’t think he’d   
noticed, but certainly he would remember that she hadn’t given him a gift this morning.      
  
Per her usual modus operandus when at loose ends, she directed Fred to the agency, hoping that Ian had   
stacked her appointment book today.  
  
Unfortunately, her calendar was as clean as a whistle except for her appointment at one with the   
obstetrician.  The holiday season had officially kicked in for the agency, and the work would remain slow   
until January.  Annoyed, she handed the rolls of film Remington had taken to Sandra and asked her to   
have them developed.  Grateful for something to do, the other detective snatched up her hot pink purse   
and disappeared out the front door.  
  
While she was gone, Laura sorted through the three files on her own desk and determined again that   
nothing could be done on them until after Christmas.  Similar sorting on Remington’s desk came up with   
the same results.  
  
When the mail came forty-five minutes later, she strolled out to intercept the stack, hoping to find   
something to do.  She took the three bills, a catalog for security systems and a large envelope with her   
name on it back to her desk.  
  
She opened the envelope first, and dozens of pictures spilled out.  Remington graced those photos, in   
every disguise he’d assumed in those three days.  With shaking hands, she put down the pictures, shoved   
everything to the side and put her head on the desk.  Three minutes later, she rediscovered the attitude   
that had allowed her to build Remington Steele Investigations from a figment of her imagination.  She   
yanked the photos in front of her and began looking for clues.  
  
  
  
Sandra returned with the pictures Mr. Steele had taken while in disguise and handed them off as Laura   
headed out for her doctor’s appointment.  
  
While Fred drove, Laura flipped through the stack, looking for someone taking pictures.  But the culprit   
had Remington’s number.   _Was he or she smart enough to avoid Rei's camera?  Who in the hell could  
this be?  
  
_Frustrated at the lack of answers, she meticulously replaced the pictures in their folders as Fred stopped   
in front of the medical office building at Cedars-Sinai.  
  
  
  
Laura paced in the waiting room, tapping her fingers on her elbow while she waited.  Rei had missed only  
two appointments so far; this would be the third.  He’d been none too happy about it, but with the   
cameras around yesterday, rescheduling wasn’t a consideration.  
  
The nurse, a shy brunette with a lovely low-pitched voice, called, “Laura Steele?”  
  
“Hi.”  
  
“Hello.  You know the drill?”  
  
“Do I have to step on the scale?” Laura complained.  
  
“Always.  But you can take your shoes off,” the nurse, named “Cassidy” according to her badge, offered.  
  
She did.  “Twenty-seven pounds.  I’ve gained twenty-seven pounds,” she moaned.  
  
The nurse chuckled.  “You’re on track to gain about thirty-two total.  That’s about right, Mrs. Steele.    
You were very small before getting pregnant.”  
  
Mentally berating herself for the twice weekly ice cream trips, Laura tightened her resolve to eliminate   
them.  She followed the nurse into the exam room and sat in the pink chair for her blood pressure test.  
  
“This is getting routine, isn’t it?” Cassidy asked as she placed the cuff around her arm.  
  
“Yes.  Four weeks to go.”  While the machine puffed and hissed, Laura mulled over the clues they had   
so far.  
  
“Mrs. Steele?” Cassidy asked when the machine finished.  “Can I do that again?”  
  
“Uh, sure.”  This time Laura watched in silence as the cuff tightened and loosened.  
  
The nurse made several notations on her clipboard.  “Thanks.  Dr. Berger will be here in a few minutes.”  
  
Laura fiddled with her wedding ring while she waited.  Noting the time on her watch, she estimated that   
Remington and Siobhán were somewhere off the eastern seaboard at this moment, heading over the   
Atlantic Ocean.  She wondered if Rei had found his present yet.  
  
“Laura, how are you today?”  Dr. Berger, with her wide grin and grey-streaked blond hair, projected   
reassurance and confidence.  Laura liked her a great deal and was grateful to Frances for the referral.  
  
“Very well, thank you.”  
  
“Uh oh.  What’s got you uptight?”  The older woman perused the chart with a grimace.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
She raised her eyebrows and tapped the chart.  “Your blood pressure is quite elevated for you.  Normally   
you have excellent numbers, but last week your BP jumped, and today it's even higher.  Now, I wouldn’t   
ordinarily be concerned with this figure, except that it’s a significant change for you.  So what’s   
happening?”  
  
Laura crossed her arms again.  “Oh, uh.  Remington had to take an unexpected trip this morning.  He’ll   
be back on Tuesday.”  
  
“That explains today, Mrs. Steele, but what has been happening in the past two weeks?”  
  
Shrugging a little, she looked away.  “We have a case; it’s not an easy one, and it’s making both of us   
nervous.  We’re trying to get it wrapped up, but the clues have been few and far between.”  
  
Dr. Berger’s eyebrows flew up again.  “You said Mr. Steele is out of town?”  Laura nodded.  “Then I’m   
going to prescribe bed rest.  I want to see you again on Tuesday.  If your numbers are still this high, we   
might be looking at staying in bed for the rest of your pregnancy.”  
  
Shocked, Laura echoed, “Bed rest?  Whatever for?”  
  
“Stress can bring on early labor.  We don’t need that.  Let’s try it for a few days and see if that will take   
care of it.”  
  
“But I have a business to run!”  
  
Dr. Berger looked askance at her.  “What are you planning to do when the baby is born?  Look at this as   
a trial to see how your office runs without you.  Now … since Mr. Steele is out of town, who are you   
going to call to come help you?”  
  
Mouth opening and closing like a fish, Laura could only stare at the doctor.  Finally, she said, “I’ll call my  
sister.  I was planning to spend the weekend with her.”  
  
“Good.  You can do that before you leave here.  Go home, get what you need, then get in bed and stay   
there.  You are allowed to get up for the bathroom and to shower and that’s all,” she emphasized. “No   
working on cases.  Until Tuesday, Mrs. Steele, give yourself a break.  Now, let’s get your exam done.”  
  
Laura scooted up onto the table to lie uncomfortably on her back.  Dr. Berger brought out the Doppler   
instrument and the gel.  The high-pitched thumping never failed to make her smile even as she worried   
over how to tell Remington about this latest development.  
  
“Sounds good, Laura.  The baby’s heart is strong.  Let’s keep it that way.”  
  
“I will.”  
  
“Good.  Call your sister and let’s get that blood pressure back to normal.  
  
While Fred drove her to the penthouse, Laura dialed.  
  
“Hi, Frances.  Do you still want me for the weekend? … I might not be much company. …”  
  
Within two hours, Frances had her little sister ensconced in the guest bedroom.  Laura looked at the   
clock and missed Remington.  
  
  
  
Kaleb stopped by Mildred’s office as she packed up for the day.  “Ms. Krebs?”  
  
“Yes, hon?”  
  
“I’ve still got these pictures Mr. Steele had me take.  They’ve been developed, but Mrs. Steele hasn’t   
been back yet.  What should I do with them?”  
  
“Leave them on her desk.  I’m sure she’ll be in over the weekend.  She usually likes to pick up the mail   
on Saturdays.”  
  
“Sure thing, Ms. Krebs.”  
  
  
  
By the time the airplane touched down in Dublin, Remington had discovered a whole new side to his   
daughter.  For months, he’d been congratulating himself on her easy transition into her new life.  The five   
months she’d been with them hadn’t been easy as they'd all had to make adjustments, but they hadn’t   
been that difficult either.  
  
He should have seen it coming.  Siobhán had ventured to express her displeasure over this trip more than   
once … in her shy, non-confrontational way.  He thought he’d done an admirable job in soothing her   
over.  
  
Obviously, he was wrong.  Her mutinous pout made it all too clear: she had little interest in making this   
trip.  They’d made light conversation as they left Los Angeles.  She’d expressed a token interest in the   
birthday present he’d found in his carry-on from Laura, but by the time they left American air space four   
hours later, Siobhán had lapsed into an irritated silence.  She’d briefly napped in the “afternoon” while he   
did his own fair share of brooding on the flight over, uneasy at the idea of stepping foot in either of their   
destinations.  
  
She’d grown increasingly cranky as they crossed time zones.  What should have been bedtime was   
instead a change of planes in Paris.  The next short flight didn’t allow for anything more than a catnap,   
and by the time they touched down in Dublin, the morning sun graced the skies.  
  
Like Siobhán, Remington hadn’t been able to sleep for more than a moment or two despite the comfort   
of flying in first class.  He blew out his breath, thinking of the long day they had ahead of them.  
  
Eyes shadowed, Siobhán sulked and put her chin in her hand as she stared out the window.  The seat   
belt sign blinked off.  Remington rose to gather their luggage from the overhead bins.  
  
The baggage went on the floor, and he touched her cheek.  “Come on,” he chivied.  “It will be nice not   
to wear the plane for a while.”  
  
“I don’t want to go.”  Siobhán’s grey eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms firmly in front of her.  
  
More than ready to check into the hotel and call Laura, Remington’s curt tone emphasized his own   
weariness.  “Siobhán, we can’t stay here.”  
  
“I’m not going anywhere.”  
  
 _Ah, bugger me.  I don’t have time for a snit fit._  “Excellent.  You won’t mind me pawing through your   
underthings at Carlisle's while I pack them up, will you?”  
  
“You wouldn’t!” she accused, horrified by the prospect.  
  
“ _A stór_ , there’s not much I haven’t done.  Wouldn’t bother me in the least.”   _Actually, it would, but you  
don’t need to know that. _ “Siobhán, berate me in the car all you want.  Yell at me over breakfast.  At   
least let me get out of this airplane so I can stand up straight while you do it.”  His levity must have   
annoyed her because she snatched up her purse and her bag, stomping off the plane in a hurry.  He   
grabbed his own case and followed, grateful that she was moving along in any case.  
  
In sullen silence, she walked beside him to hail a taxi outside the terminal.  When they checked into the   
hotel, the concierge handed him a message:   _Staying with Frances.  Call whenever you arrive. Laura.  
  
_ Glancing at his watch, he calculated it was still in the very small hours of the morning in LA.  Siobhán   
ignored him all the way to their suite and slammed the door to her room.  He hoped she would take a   
short nap while he made the necessary arrangements for the afternoon. Taking Laura at her word, he   
dialed the Pipers’ number.  
  
On the first ring, Laura answered.  “Hello?”  
  
He smiled, as he nearly always did when he heard her voice.  “Hello, love.”  
  
“Rei.  You’re there.”  She sounded relieved.  “How was the flight?”  
  
“Too damned long.  Even longer when one has to sit with a miffed daughter the entire way.”  He turned   
to the window and drew back the curtain to see downtown Dublin staring back at him.  
  
“Did you talk?”  
  
“Not really.  It seems she didn’t care for my charming banter.  I’m not certain if the Walkman was a   
good idea.  She stuck the headphones on and ignored me for most of the flight.”  
  
Laura laughed softly.  “Sounds like a bored teenager.  Did she sleep at all?”  
  
“Some, but I think we’re in for a long day.”  He scrubbed his face in his own weariness.    
  
“What time is it there?”  
  
“Not quite eleven in the morning.  I’m hoping she sleeps for a bit, and then we’ll have lunch before going  
to Johnny’s house.  The solicitor and the court representative will be there at two.”  
  
“Will you be all right?”  The sincerity in her voice carried across the Atlantic and warmed him.  
  
Exhaling slowly, he replied, “I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”  Staring out the window again, he   
picked out the streets and buildings that had served as his “range” the various times he’d lived here.  “I   
didn’t think I’d come back to Ireland.”  
  
“At all?” she said in surprise.  
  
“Only if you had wanted to come back.  It’s not been full of pleasant memories of late.  At the moment,   
even Ashford Castle has lost some of its appeal.”  
  
“I love you, Rei.”  
  
“Ah, Laura--” he started.  
  
“I know,” she interrupted.  
        
He needed to change the subject before he became maudlin as old recollections crowded his mind.  “I   
should ask how you and the tyke are doing?  Oh, and I found my birthday present.  I like it.  Thank you,   
love.”  
  
“I thought you might.  We’re okay.  We had our appointment this afternoon, and now we’re camping out   
with Donald and Frances.  I swear Frances is waiting on me hand and foot.  It’s annoying.”  Remington   
scowled, hearing something in her voice but unable to put a finger on it as she continued, “I tried to look   
through the pictures today, but she fussed at me for working.”  
  
“Laura, if you’re with Frances, there’s no need to worry.  We’ll deal with it together when I return.    
Whoever it is can’t reach either of us at the moment.”  
  
She stayed quiet for a moment before affirming, “Fred promises we weren’t followed.  He did a lot of   
maneuvering and backtracking to make certain.”  
  
“Then you’re as safe as you can be.  I know your sister will drive you insane before I come home, but   
please, stay there … for me if not for you.”  
  
“I will.”  
  
Again, Remington detected something in her voice.  “Love, are you all right?”  
  
She didn’t hesitate.  “I miss you.  It’s hard to sleep when you’re across the Atlantic.”  
  
“Try anyway.”  He didn’t buy that explanation, even as he was sure of its truth.  
  
“I will.  Will you call me later?”  
  
“Of course.  I’ll call you this evening … ah, twelve hours from now.”  
  
“I’ll look forward to it.  Give Siobhán a hug for me.”  
  
“I will once she starts speaking to me once more.”  
  
Soft laughter again.  “I don’t envy you.  She’s been due for a meltdown for a while.”  
  
“Yes, but did she have to do it on my watch?”  
  
“I’m sure I’ll have my turn.”  
  
“I love you, Laura.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
It took him another minute to say goodbye and put the phone down.  His fingers rested on the receiver   
for a moment before he could lift them away and begin unpacking his baggage.  After that, two more   
phone calls solidified their arrangements for the afternoon.  
  
A quick peek into Siobhán’s room confirmed she slept soundly.  She hadn’t bothered to kick off her   
shoes.  He did that for her, slipping them from her feet before covering her with the light blanket he drew   
down from the shelf in her closet.  
  
He tried to sleep.  By LA time, it was nearly four in the morning, but he lay on the bed in nervous   
anticipation of walking through the halls of a house he hadn’t seen in nearly three decades.  Closing his   
eyes, he tried to recall what he could of Johnny’s manor, but only vague memories of a light, clean room   
and a warm place to sleep came to mind.    
  
A half hour later, he gratefully gave up the idea of sleeping to sluice off the airplane dirt under the jets of   
the warm shower.  That, combined with fresh clothes and a hot cup of tea, helped him to shake off the   
weariness.  
  
A gentle rap on the door roused Siobhán.  He knew the hour she'd had wasn’t nearly enough, but it   
would have to do for now.  
  
He waited for her to brush her hair and apply a touch of lip gloss.  She glared at him before snatching up   
her purse and walking to the front door.  Arching a brow at her back, he trailed along in her wake.    
Apparently, she’d paid a little too much attention to Laura in one of her irritable tempers.  
  
In the circular driveway of the hotel, Remington slid into the driver’s seat of the Audi he’d decided to   
rent while there.  The privileges of money, he mused.  With enough of it, one could have a private car of   
one’s choice delivered where desired.  Having been both miserably poor and comfortably wealthy, he   
certainly preferred the latter and had done much to ensure he would remain that way.  The irony that   
Johnny Carlisle bore much of the responsibility for the former didn’t go unnoticed by him.  
  
They stopped at a pub for a quick lunch before driving the short distance to the Carlisle estate on the   
edge of Dublin.  As he drove them through the gates, Siobhán unbent enough to reach for his hand.  
  
“Da, promise you won’t leave me here?” she asked once more.  
  
He knew the question wasn’t intended to hurt him, but it did.  She still had little reason to trust his word.    
Wishing he could lean over and give her a hug, the best he could do was to squeeze her hand.  
  
“I promise, Siobhán.  Try to remember I purchased two round-trip tickets.  Laura will be most put out   
with me if one of them goes unused.”  He tried for levity, but the teen didn’t respond to his humor as   
would Laura.  Instead, she lapsed into silence and worried a curl of her hair.  
  
At the enormous gates set into the walls surrounding the manor house, Remington pulled up to the   
speaker and pressed the button.  “Steele here.”  
  
“Aye, sir.  Be but a moment,” came a proper voice from the box.  The gates moved ponderously apart.    
Remington drove through, stopping in front of the imposing edifice.  
  
Jonathan Andrews, Siobhán’s solicitor, met them at the heavy front doors.  Behind him, a nervous   
younger man with ashy hair introduced himself as Tim O’Malley, the court representative.  
  
“I’ve brought boxes, Miss Steele,” Andrews said.  “I’ll arrange for shipping to your home.  Just let Mr.    
O’Malley know what you are keeping.  If he has a question, set the item aside, and we’ll negotiate later.”  
  
The girl nodded before walking away to her room.  Remington took his time following her.  He’d   
forgotten how beautiful the eighteenth-century manor was … or perhaps hadn’t realized through the eyes   
of a young boy.  Each room was delicately appointed with lovely antiques and small-but-valuable trinkets  
that made the inner thief in him sit up and take notice.  It still reminded him of a bloody museum though--  
not that he’d been familiar with the concept as a lad.  At the time he’d only understood that it was formal   
and rather foreboding.  
  
The only part of the house vaguely resembling a home was the small wing where Siobhán had lived.  She   
could have selected a larger room on the east side of the house, but she’d chosen to stay near the   
servants and nursery quarters on the west side.  Her room, decorated in lacey pinks, provided the only   
bright spot of color in the dull, gray paneled hallway.  
  
Andrews assembled boxes while Siobhán ransacked her closet first, leaving behind all but a few items of   
clothing.  O’Malley stood near the doorway, checking items off his inventory list and making notations on  
another.  
  
Remington frowned at both men.  Andrews saw his look, shrugged and stepped out of the room to make   
himself comfortable on the hallway settee.  O’Malley eased into the doorway itself and propped up the   
frame.  
  
Feeling distinctly uncomfortable with the young man standing in his daughter’s room, he arched a brow at  
O’Malley.  “I’ll tell you what, mate.  Why don’t you and Andrews find a place to relax.  When Siobhán   
is finished with a box, I’ll bring it to you so you can check off your sheet.  I don’t particularly think she   
needs anyone hovering over her.”  
  
“But I’m supposed to supervise the packing, sir.”  
  
“You really think a fifteen-year-old girl is going to be able to slip past your guard if you sit in the hallway   
between here and the front door?”  Remington scratched the back of his neck and leveled a hard look at   
him.  Of course, he failed to mention that at fifteen he could have flitted out a window, scaled the walls   
of the house and dropped in again to lift a number of small valuables from nearly anywhere at all.  
  
The other man squirmed.  “Ah, yes, sir.  I’ll wait with Mr. Andrews.”  
  
“Excellent idea, mate.”  He clapped the man on the back and closed the door enough that Siobhán    
couldn’t see either of the men.  
  
In the meantime, Siobhán sat on the floor stacking compact discs into the box by her side.  Books   
followed, along with a worn doll and an ancient stuffed teddy bear.  
  
Remington sat down beside her and retrieved the bear.  “Good Lord.  Where on earth did you find this?”  
  
Siobhán shrugged.  “Housekeeper gave him to me when I was little.”  
  
“Did you give him a name?”  
  
Pinking a little, she nodded.  “Corduroy.  From the book.”  
  
“I haven’t read that one.  Remind me to get a copy for the house.”  He looked the bear over, turning it   
this way and that before peering into the one remaining brown eye.  “I used to worry about this bear,   
hoping he would have a good home.”  
  
“He was yours?”  
  
“Mm.  Don’t know about that.  But I remember hiding under the covers with him at night.  Glad to know   
he had a good friend.”  He placed the bear back into the box.  
  
Siobhán didn’t say anything, only folded the flaps closed and shoved the box out of the way.  “I hate this   
house,” she declared at last.  
  
“I’ve gathered that.  Any particular reason why?”  He handed her another box as she opened a drawer   
and took out ten or twelve small packages.  Remington lifted the lid on one.  “Good Lord.”  He pulled   
out a diamond-encrusted Cartier watch and lifted it to the light.  “Did Johnny give this to you?”  
  
“That and all the rest.  Every Christmas, every birthday, Johnny would fly in, take me out to dinner and   
present me with one of these.  I hate jewelry.”  She snatched up one of the boxes and threw it across the   
room.   “I hate it.  I hate fake gifts.  I hate Johnny.  He left me here.  No friends.  No family.  No one to   
talk to."  She punctuated each statement by winging another box.  "All I had was Housekeeper.  Johnny   
wouldn’t even let me call her by name.”  She buried her face on her knees.  “Everyone called me Miss    
O’Callaghan, not even Miss Carlisle.  No one will tell me why.”  
  
“Remind me to take back your Christmas present,” Remington quipped as he set the watch on the floor.  
  
Siobhán looked up, her face drawn even as her eyes stayed dry.  “From you it would be different.”  
  
Remington tilted his head quizzically.  “Johnny didn’t tell you why your mother brought you to live with   
him?”  
  
She shook her head. “I’ve always wondered if he was really my dad.  If he was, why don’t I have his   
name?”  
  
He pressed his lips together to cool his ire, furious with Johnny again for neglecting this lovely girl.    
Slowly he spoke, choosing his words carefully.  “I have the answers, Siobhán, but I don’t think this is the   
proper time to have this conversation with our guests sitting in the hallway.  If you’ll agree, I’ll help you   
pack today.  Tonight, when we return to the hotel, I’ll tell you what you want to know.”  
  
“Do you promise?” she asked again, as a small child does when they’ve known too many forgotten   
promises.  
  
“Of course, Siobhán.  Steele’s word is his bond.”  He brought up the side of his mouth in remembrance   
of the joke between him and Laura.  Only now it wasn’t a joke anymore.  
  
Awkwardly she rose, pulling another packing box toward her.  “What should I do with this jewelry?”  
  
“Do you like any of it?  And I’m speaking fashion-wise, not feeling-wise.”  He held up the watch again.  
  
She shrugged again.  “Maybe the watch and the diamond studs.  But. …”  
  
“But?”  
  
“I don’t want to wear anything from Johnny.”  
  
Recognizing that in her anger she might not have been thinking clearly, he only agreed.  “Then leave   
them here.”  He walked over to pick up the boxes scattered across the far end of the room.  One by one,   
he piled them on the dresser, palming both the watch and the earrings.  He would save them for her in   
case she changed her mind one day.  
  
While she packed a few other odds and ends, Remington made excuses and slipped into the hallway with   
the two boxes she’d filled.    
  
“O’Malley.”  
  
“Sir.”  
  
Tugging at his ear, he casually commented, “There’s some rather valuable jewelry in her room.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
“Give it all to Andrews after we leave.  I want it and anything else she leaves behind to be liquidated.  I’  
m keeping these two pieces for her.”  He showed both of them the watch and the earrings.  “She might   
regret leaving them behind one day.”  
  
Andrews nodded.  “What do you want to do with the cash?”  
  
“Set up a trust for her.  It’s to be hers when she comes of age, no questions asked.”  The solicitor   
nodded again and made notes in his planner.  
  
Remington turned back to O’Malley.  “What is she entitled to out of the rest of the house?”  
  
The young man cleared his throat.  “Photos, or anything obviously personal, are hers.  Everything else is   
at my discretion.  The bulk of it has to stay here for auction.  Please be reasonable, Mr. Steele.  It will   
make this process easier for all of us.”  
  
Remington scowled.  “I’m not interested in dragging out this process for anyone, least of all Siobhán.”  
  
It only took another hour for the teen to finish packing her room and O’Malley to complete his   
inventory.  By then, jet lag had caught up with the father and daughter pair.  Remington called a halt for   
the day.  
  
“We’ll go through the rest of the house tomorrow, gentlemen.”  
  
  
  
Siobhán half-dozed on the way back to the hotel.  Remington didn’t bother stopping for dinner.  Instead,   
they ordered from room service.  While they waited, she showered and dressed for bed.  She sat cross-  
legged on the little couch, eating a sandwich when it arrived.  
  
“I promised you a conversation, _a stór_.”  
  
“I’m tired, Da.”  
  
 _Thank God._  “Then we’ll have it tomorrow.”  
  
She finished only half her meal before crawling into bed.  Remington hardly had time to pat her on the   
shoulder and kiss her temple before she slept soundly.  
  
He slid under the covers of his own bed before reaching for the phone.  He punched in the numbers to   
the Piper house.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
“Hello, Frances.  How are you?”  
  
“Oh, wonderful, Remington.  I’m sure you want to speak with Laura.”  
  
“I’d like that.”  
  
“Hold on.  Let me walk the phone to her.”  
  
That sounded odd, but when Laura’s voice came on the line, he forgot to ask why.  “Rei?”  
  
“Hello, love.”  
  
“You sound tired.”  
  
“I am.  Siobhán’s already asleep.”  
  
“Why aren’t you?”  
  
The sound of her voice lulled him.  He closed his eyes to listen.  “Can’t without you,” he mumbled.  
  
“Hmm … that’s a lovely thought.  But I think Dr. Laura has just the thing for you.”  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
Softly, for his ears only, she began singing, “Moonlight and love songs … never out of date … hearts full   
of passion, jealousy and hate .. woman needs man, and man must have his mate … it’s still the same old   
story, a fight for love and glory, a case of do or die ... the world will always welcome lovers … as time   
goes by.”  
  
Only silence followed.  “Hang up the telephone, Mr. Steele.”  
  
“Mmm … sure, Miss Holt.”  He rolled over to place the phone on the cradle and dropped into a   
dreamless sleep.

 

 


	20. Secrets

_Saturday, 3 December 1988 -- 36 weeks, 2 days  
  
_ Laura took a moment longer to disconnect her end after she heard the “click.”  She sat against the pillows   
in the guestroom at Frances’ house.  Remington sounded utterly exhausted, as he should be.  Glancing at   
the clock, she figured he’d been awake for thirty hours straight.  
  
The little bedroom she stayed in was pure Frances, decorated with soft rose chintz and delicate figurines.    
The guest bed had an antique quilt in every shade of pink, from the palest to the deepest in swirling   
patterns.  There was probably a name for the pattern, but Laura didn’t know it.  
  
She traced her finger along the stitching, bored with working crosswords and watching TV.  Frances   
walked in carrying a lunch tray complete with a sandwich, fruit and a giant glass of milk.    
  
“Really, Frances, I can sit at the table,” Laura said.  
  
“Did your doctor say that?  No, she didn’t,” Frances admonished.  
  
“What’s the difference between my sitting at a table and my sitting in bed?”  
  
“I have no idea, but the doctor gave you very specific instructions.”  
  
“Frances!”  A trace of what might have been a whine emerged from Laura.  
  
Her sister shook her head.  “That might have worked when you and Kate were at home, but I have three   
kids now.  You won’t get away with it anymore.”  
  
“But Frances, I’m bored out of my mind.”  That was a whine.  
  
“Then you’ll behave for three more days because you won’t want to do this for the next month.  Imagine   
how bored you’ll be then?”  She sat on the edge of the bed.  “Besides, this is the last chance you’ll have   
for peace and quiet for a long time--and a decent night’s sleep.”  
  
“As if anyone can sleep with this little one tossing and turning all night,” Laura complained as she picked   
at the sandwich.  
  
Frances smiled knowingly.  “I remember that.  Just when you need to sleep the most, they keep you up.    
It doesn’t change when they are born either.”  Taking pity on her sister, she relented, “I’ll tell you what.    
I’ll compromise.  You can lie on the sofa so you won’t be lonely.  The kids are dying to talk to you.”  
  
“Please,” Laura begged, “I’d love their company.  It’s not even been a day, and I’ve worked a dozen   
crosswords, finished my book and watched two movies.  I’m itching to get a stack of files from the   
office, even though I know there’s nothing to do there because of the holidays.”  
  
“All right.  But Donald is going to want to watch football.”  
  
Laura smiled, a genuine one.  “This is me.  Kate and I love football.  Stanford is playing at one.    
Watching it with someone else will be infinitely preferable to cheering by myself in here.”  
  
“Speaking of Kate, I called her last night.”  
  
“Oh, Frances.  You didn’t tell her.”  
  
“I did.  She’s insisted that if you don’t keep her posted daily, that I do.  I promised I would.  
         
Laura didn’t like having Frances arranging her life and threw up her arms in frustration.  “I don’t like   
people having to take care of me.”  
  
Frances just smiled at her.  “Laura, this is the first time you have ever asked for my help.  I’m thrilled to   
be able to do something for you.  Give yourself a break.  Remington and Siobhán are in Ireland, and you   
are on bed rest.  It calls for a helping hand.”  
  
Giving her a mutinous glare at first, Laura subsided.  “Thank you, Frances.”  
  
Her sister shrugged.  “Look at it this way; it could be Mother at your beck and call.”  
  
Laura shuddered.  “Don’t threaten me with that.  By the time Tuesday comes, the doctor would have to   
check me into the hospital.  That’s not exactly what I want Remington to find when he comes home.”  
  
“How did he handle your being on bed rest?”  
  
“I haven’t told him,” she admitted.  
  
“Laura!”  
  
“Frances, he’s got his hands full with Siobhán.  He doesn’t need this too.  Hopefully, on Tuesday, I’ll get   
an all clear, and I can tell him afterward.”  
  
“Why did they go to Ireland now?”  
  
Choosing her words carefully, Laura said, “She has only a few days to retrieve some of her things before   
the house is turned over to another family.”  
  
“How sad.  I suppose you two didn’t have a chance to take care of this before now.”  
  
Laura nodded.  “We had hoped it wouldn’t happen until after the baby is born.”  
  
“Well, perhaps it’s best this way.  It will be over and done.”  
  
Relieved that Frances wasn’t going to pursue the conversation, she only agreed.  
  
  
  
Football kept her occupied for the rest of the day.  The Stanford Cardinal played the California Golden   
Bears to a 19-19 tie.  Donald and Danny helped her root for Stanford, which made her happy.    
  
Afterward, they watched USC stomp UCLA--causing Laura to mutter mild obscenities that made Danny   
snort in his soft drink.  Not that she really rooted for UCLA; she just despised them a little less than USC.  
  
  
  
By eleven she lay in bed, entertained by the baby’s movements while she flipped channels and waited for   
Remington to call.  She didn’t have to wait long, for ten minutes later the phone rang.  
  
“Hello?”  
       
“Hello, Laura.”  
  
She smiled at the way he drew out her name.  “Sleep well?”  
  
“Yes, actually.”  She heard him breathing before he asked, “Is it my imagination or did you sing me to   
sleep last night?”  
  
“I did.”  
  
“I don’t know whether to be flattered or mortified--a grown man needing a lullaby to fall asleep.”  
  
“Perhaps I’ll ask you to sing to me.”  
  
“Laura, there are a great many things I’ll do for you.  That isn’t one of them.”  
  
She laughed.  “That’s all right.  Unless our son or daughter is lulled to sleep at the same time, it doesn’t   
really matter.”  
  
“Is the baby keeping you awake?”  
  
“For a while each night we have to have our little gymnastics routine until we’re all settled.  After that,   
we can go to sleep.”  Changing the subject, Laura asked, “How did yesterday go?”  
  
“As well as to be expected, I suppose.  There’s more anger buried under Siobhán’s sweet face than I   
anticipated.  She’s harboring a great deal of resentment towards Johnny.  Do you know no one has told   
her why she lived with him as she did and why her name was O’Callaghan?”  
  
Shocked, Laura replied, “No.  I assumed she knew the whole story.”  
  
“So did I.  I promised I would tell her today.”  
  
“I wish I was there, Rei.”  
  
“Aye, love.  I do too.”  
  
Laura caressed her belly for a moment, worrying about the pair of them.  “What’s on your agenda   
today?”  
  
“We’ve finished her room; now we’ll take a peek at the rest of the house, although I doubt she’ll keep   
much of it.  She doesn’t seem to want any part of it.  Love, you wouldn’t believe the jewelry Johnny   
gave her.  Most of it is hardly appropriate for a society matron, much less a young girl.”  
  
“She doesn’t wear jewelry.”  
  
“No, she threw it all across the room in a temper, angry because Johnny would give her a box at   
Christmas and her birthday.”  
  
“What did you do?”  
  
“Kept a watch and pair of earrings that are tasteful and told Andrews to sell the rest.  He’ll put the money   
in a trust for her.  If she ever regrets not keeping any of it, we’ll have the watch and earrings to give her.”  
  
Laura smiled.  Sometimes Remington could be terribly thoughtful and compassionate--still a wonder to   
her given his upbringing.  “Very smart, Mr. Steele.”  
  
“It’s nice that you think so.  All right, Mrs. Steele, what are you keeping from me?”  
  
Shocked, Laura sat straight up in bed.  “What do you mean?”  
  
“Laura, I’ve known you for six bloody years.  I think I know the sound of your voice when you’re hiding   
something.  Come on.  Come clean with me.  Something happened and you’re not telling me.”  
  
She sat on the bed with the phone held to her ear for a long minute before she finally admitted, “I didn’t   
want to worry you.”  
  
“I’m already worried wondering whatever in the hell it is that you’re hiding.”  
  
She sighed.  “I’ve been put on bed rest until Tuesday.  My blood pressure has gone up quite a bit in the   
last two weeks.  Dr. Berger wants me to stay in bed and relax to get it to go back down.”  
  
“What are the risks to the baby?”  
  
“Mostly early labor.  She’s not terribly worried since I only have four or so weeks left, but she would   
rather I made it to term.”  
  
“So would I.  What happens if your blood pressure doesn’t come down?”  
  
Unhappily, Laura clutched the telephone a little harder.  “I’ll be on bed rest until the baby is born.”  
  
Silence reigned as Remington digested the news.  “Do we know why this happened?”  
  
“Dr. Berger thinks it’s due to stress.  She … told me not to work any cases.”  
  
“I gather you haven’t told her about our little problem.”  
  
“No, and Frances pitches a fit every time I try to look at the pictures.”  
  
“With good reason.”  
  
“Rei, I have to try.  I’ve done my best to do nothing today other than watch football to keep myself   
distracted.”  
  
“Who won?”  
  
“Tie 19-19.  Don’t try to sidetrack me, Mr. Steele.”  
  
“Sorry, love.  Habit.  I’ll make a deal with you, Laura.”  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
“The three of us are safe for the time being.  When I get home, I’ll go over every inch with you.     
Between the original photos, the set I took and the set Carter took, we’ll find whoever is behind this.”  
  
“What do you mean, ‘the set Carter took’?  Kaleb didn’t give me any pictures.”  Laura narrowed her   
eyes.  “What exactly did I miss here?”  
  
She heard a sigh.  “I had Carter shadow me while we flushed out our friend.  I disguised myself, but    
didn’t change my basic character so that the target could identify me.  Carter, on the other hand, I had   
hidden in every manner possible so that he could take pictures of whoever had his eye on us.”  
  
Laura bit her lip before letting her anger out.  “Damn you, Remington.  When were you going to fill me   
in on this little gambit?  I received a stack of photos of you in every single disguise.  I thought we’d   
blown the whole thing.”  
  
“Laura, I needed your reactions to be honest when you figured out whatever cover I was using.  If I had   
told you beforehand, you would have kept yourself from looking for me.”  
  
“I don’t understand.”  
  
“It’s the detective in you, love.  The moment you walk into a room or out on the street, you   
automatically scan the people and environment around you.  It’s part of staying aware of your   
surroundings.  Cops do it all the time.  So do criminals--the good ones anyway.  When we were out there   
with the cameras, you scanned the area, found me and kept going--just as you should do.  But if I had   
told you that Carter was following me, you would have done the same with him.  I knew I’d done a good   
job hiding him when you didn’t penetrate his cover.  Your eyes never stopped on him, not once.”  
  
“So, you’re saying I gave you away?”  
  
“Laura, we’re dealing with a different kind of criminal here--one who is extraordinarily observant.  He   
would have to be in order to avoid having both of us notice him.  Three days, love, and I still didn’t get a   
bead on him.  I think Carter’s photographs are our only chance of catching the bugger.”  
  
“If you’re trying to make me feel better, you’re not succeeding.  In any case, I didn’t see Kaleb on   
Friday because of my doctor’s appointment.”  
  
“Then they are probably on your desk.”  She heard him swear under his breath.  “Good Lord, Laura, I   
should have told you.  Then when you received your little gift from our friend, you would have known   
that I’d meant to be seen.  No wonder you’re distressed.”  She could hear the self-recrimination in his   
tone.  
  
Laura looked up at the ceiling, grimacing as the baby found some sort of organ to shove against.  She lay   
down on her side with the telephone to her ear.  “Rei, it’s okay.  I know now.  I’ll call Kaleb to make   
sure the photos are at the office.”  
  
“Promise you won’t go after them right now?”  
  
“I promise.  I don’t think Frances would let me past the front door anyway.  I think everyone is   
conspiring against me.  Fred insisted on bringing me here, so I don’t have a car.  Frances will let me sit   
on either the bed or the couch, and that’s all.  Kate admonished me on the phone earlier.  And absolutely   
no one is telling Mom anything because she’ll drive us all crazy.”  
  
“Sounds as if you’re in good hands.”  
  
“Yeah, but the only hands I want to be in are yours.”  
  
“Now that sounds like a proposition, love.”  
  
Laura groaned.  “I’m not even sure we can make sex work at this point.  If we do, we’ll have to be in the   
dark so I don’t frighten you away.”  
  
“Laura, I’ve told you before that I find you deliciously attractive while pregnant.”  
  
“You just like my breasts.”  She grimaced.  It had been months since she could get away with not   
wearing a bra during the day.  
  
“Side benefit.  Doesn’t mean a thing.”  
  
She couldn’t help herself.  She laughed--long and delightedly.  “I love you, Mr. Steele.”  
  
“Another side benefit.  Means everything.”  
  
“Why do I always feel better after we talk?  We haven’t solved anything?”  
  
“I have no idea.  Go to bed, love.  I’ll call you tomorrow, same time.”  
  
“All right.  Give Siobhán a hug for me.”  
  
“That I can do.  Goodnight, love.”  
  
“Goodnight, Mr. Steele.”  
  
Laura rolled to her back to hang up the phone, remembered she couldn’t breathe in that position and   
rolled to the other side.  The baby jockeyed for his or her own comfortable position.  When they both   
settled, they fell asleep nearly instantly.  
  
  
  
Remington knocked on Siobhán’s door to wake her.  An hour later, he pulled out of the hotel parking lot   
to drive to Siobhán’s prior home.  She’d been unnaturally quiet again, so he opened the conversation.  
  
He scratched the back of his head as he spoke.  “Johnny Carlisle and Denis O’Callaghan used to be   
friends of an odd sort.  Ran together, played a bit.  Did a lot of questionable things in their day.    
Somewhere in there, they fell for the same girl, a pretty one by the name of Erin Brennan.  From what I   
understand, she had a difficult time choosing from the pair, for she cared for both men.  But Denis had a   
way with words and flattered her into marrying him.  
  
“ ‘Twas only afterwards she discovered he had a mean streak and a temper.  Right or wrong, she took   
solace with Johnny and found herself pregnant.  She tried to make things right with Denis, but he figured   
out as you grew older that you weren’t his kin.”  He glanced at her, wondering if she was listening.    
“You’ve got Johnny’s grey eyes, a stór, and we already know how the family looks breed true,” he said   
in an aside.  
  
Returning to the story, he continued.  “Erin brought you to Johnny when you were five to keep you safe   
from O’Callaghan.  Then, because she’d said the vows of marriage, she went home to Denis.  Johnny   
protected you the only way he knew how with all the enemies about that he’d made.  He put you   
somewhere safe and surrounded you with a handful of people he trusted.  The word on the streets was   
that he’d kidnapped you after Erin died, out of revenge and love for her.”  
  
Remington downshifted as he hit a decent straightaway, speeding up to make the trip a little shorter.  “It   
wasn’t true though.  You know that from the letter ye mum wrote ye when she took you to live with   
Johnny.”  
  
Siobhán ventured her first question.  “How did my mother die?”  
  
Remington flinched.  He’d hoped not to have to answer that one.  He reached over to stroke her hair.  “I   
don’t know for certain.  I only know the rumors I’ve heard--but the word was that Denis had her killed   
not long after she gave you to Johnny.”  
  
“Where is he now?”  
  
“Denis?”  Remington scrambled to only disclose the bare minimum of the truth.  “Ah, he was captured in   
April, and someone killed him while he was in jail.”  
  
Siobhán turned to face him.  “Was it Johnny?”  
  
“You’re not a silly girl, are you?”  He gave her a hard look as he took the exit to the Carlisle Manor.  
  
She toyed with a curl of hair.  “I heard … things.  Johnny really did love my mother, didn’t he?”  
  
“Yes, Siobhán, he did.  He cares for you … even if he has a poor way of showing it at times.”  
  
“If I hadn’t been born, my mother might still be alive.”  
  
His heart tore a little.  “Don’t do that to yourself, _a stór_.  Your parents made their own choices.  You are   
the very lovely result of those circumstances.”  He pursed his lips as he stopped the car in front of the   
gates.  “Siobhán, my mother died having me.  I’ve often regretted being alive if it meant her sacrifice.”    
Her grey eyes widened as she turned to look at him.  “For a great many years, I did nothing to earn the   
honor of being her son.  But not too many years ago, things changed--I’m sad that I never knew her, but   
I no longer regret surviving.”  
  
He shrugged before announcing their arrival, leaving Siobhán to eye him in speculation as they entered   
the grounds.

 

 


	21. Housekeeping

_Sunday, 4 December 1988 -- 36 weeks, 3 days  
  
_ The sorting that day didn’t take long.  Siobhán had little need for furniture or cookware.  From her   
grandmother Colleen’s room, she kept a knitted blanket and a brush and mirror set from her vanity.  
  
She retrieved an album containing pitifully few pictures of Johnny and his mother from an enormous   
chest in the drawing room.  As she placed it in the box, she looked around.  “I know some of these things   
must have been important to my grandmother,” Siobhán stated, “but I don’t know what they are.  Do   
you?”  
  
Remington closed his eyes, drawing on long-ago memories he’d deliberately buried.  For years, the   
memory of this house hurt him, for it had been the only safe place he’d stayed for any length of time.    
Opening his eyes again, he reoriented himself at the main hallway, then walked slowly as he recalled the   
various trinkets and furniture that occupied the space so long ago.  
  
O’Malley and Andrews followed, curious as to what he would do.  
  
In the dining room, he paused at a pair of ornate candlesticks.  “These, Siobhán, belonged to our great-  
grandmother.”  At the bookcase in the library, Remington teased a hidden catch under a shelf to reveal a   
secret panel.  He waved O’Malley forward to take a look.  “I don’t know what is in there--only that   
Johnny unlocked it one night while I was hiding in the corner back there.”  He pointed a thumb to his left.  
  
O’Malley drew out an intricate ring of emeralds set in gold.  “It’s not on my list, sir.”  
  
“Give it to Siobhán then, or hold it until we have a chance to ask Johnny about it,” Remington suggested.  
  
The young man looked confused at the idea, then nodded.  “Miss Steele hasn’t taken nearly what she’s   
entitled to.  I’ll mark it down as hers.”  
  
Pleasantly surprised, Remington nodded and continued his search.  The portraits in the gallery gave both   
him and Siobhán pause.  While Johnny hadn’t bothered sitting for a formal portrait, nor had he   
commissioned one for Siobhán, his mother Colleen had--both as a young girl with her family and after   
her marriage.  Siobhán reached up to touch one of them and looked back at Remington for permission to   
take them.  
  
“Of course, _a stór_.”  The family portrait fascinated him.  Colleen, her sister--who was surely      
Remington’s own grandmother--her three brothers and her parents made a lovely picture.  “Damn,   
Siobhán, one can certainly say we share a certain look, do we not?”  
  
She cracked a smile.  Both grandmothers and one of their brothers resembled their dad, the great-  
grandfather Siobhán and Remington shared.  All were tall, dark-haired, and classically Black Irish--only   
with the clear gray eyes she sported rather than Remington's blue.  
  
She ventured to say, “Your mum had blue eyes, did she not?”  
  
“Aye.  Daniel says that’s how he knew me.  He said I looked like her.”  
  
“Wow!”  
  
 _Wow, indeed!_  At the moment, Remington could only stare at the new additions to his family tree.    
Catching himself, he asked, “Ah, where did you get your hair color, Siobhán?”  
  
“Johnny told me once it’s the same color as Mum’s.”  
  
“So you’ve your mum’s hair and I’ve mine's eyes.  Interesting how genetics work, eh?”  
  
Siobhán shook her head and shrugged.  “Da?  Is there anything else we should keep?”  
  
He scratched his nose, slid a glance her way, then walked down the hallway past Siobhán’s room. She   
followed out of curiosity.  Pausing for a moment with his hand on the doorknob of a little room tucked   
into the end of the hallway, he wished in vain that Laura would suddenly appear.  Somehow, she made   
facing his demons easier.  He opened the door, flinching at the creak of the hinge.  
  
Oddly enough, no hideous memories resided there.  Peeling paint and a light layer of dust indicated the   
room hadn’t been occupied for some time--perhaps not since a small, black-haired boy had found a   
home.  The room contained a small bed on one side, a dresser, a child’s desk and chair on the other, and   
a toy chest.  
  
Nothing had changed.  Yellowed prints of children playing still graced the walls, and a knotted blue rug,   
faded now from years of sunlight, lay on the wooden floor.  
  
He lifted the lid to the toy chest, pursing his lips as he identified the blocks, a little wooden dog on wheels  
and a train.  Closing it again, he turned and lifted the desk top, finding the drawings in the space   
underneath that Siobhán had spoken of months ago.  
  
In someone’s painstakingly neat printing, he found his name on the edge of some of the pages.   _Ciarán,  
age 3_.  Other drawings, obviously completed later as they demonstrated marked improvement, were   
devoid of any moniker.  
  
“This really was your room?”  
  
His shoulders tensed in surprise.  He’d been so absorbed in his memories he hadn’t heard her come in.    
“Aye.  That I remember.”  
  
Siobhán opened the bottom dresser drawer.  “This is where I found your picture.  The box Johnny   
brought you was kept in here too.”  
  
Only a baby blanket and an envelope remained in the cedar-lined drawer.  After a brief glance at the   
letter, he folded it and slipped it into his jacket.  The blanket he handed to Siobhán.  
  
“If you don’t mind, I’d like your permission to take this back to Los Angeles.”  
  
“But it’s yours.”  
  
“Siobhán, I can’t lay claim to anything here except, perhaps, the letter.  Everything else is yours or   
Johnny’s.”  
  
She wrinkled her nose again and took the blanket from him, along with every single drawing from the   
desk, the toys in the chest and the pictures from the wall.  The bedding had thinned here and there over   
the years, so she left it alone.  
  
“Siobhán, you don’t have to keep those things.”  
  
The teen put her hands on her hips, copying Mildred’s favorite pose.  “Mom will want to see it all.  If   
you don’t want this stuff, it can go into storage or you can throw it in the garbage, but you’ll have to   
argue with Mom first.”  
  
He started to dispute her, then decided that if Laura discovered he’d left these things here, he’d be in a   
world of trouble.  Nodding his agreement, he followed Siobhán out of the room with an armload.  O’  
Malley checked off the items as they went into the last box.  
  
Siobhán pursed her lips and crossed her arms.  Remington concealed a smile, sure that Laura would   
recognize the attitude.  He wondered what the girl had in mind.  
  
She gathered up the courage to say, “I’d like to see Housekeeper.”  
  
Not particularly surprised by the request, Remington glanced at his watch.  “We can have lunch.  If   
Andrews here will dig up her address and make a phone call, I think we can arrange that.”  He shot a   
look to the solicitor that clearly said _make it happen.  
  
_ Andrews nodded.  “Yes, sir.  Give me a moment or two.  I may actually have it in my files.”  He strode   
away to use the telephone in the study.  
  
  
  
Not too long after that, Remington glanced in the rearview mirror as the gates to Carlisle Manor closed   
behind him for the last time.  Siobhán never looked back.  
  
  
  
After lunch, where Remington decided that Irish cooking still left a great deal to be desired, he drove   
Siobhán to an even older part of Dublin.  He irritated himself by hunching his shoulders in anticipation.    
Without a word to his daughter, he picked out with his eyes the various places he’d hidden from his   
cousins, the doorways he’d slept in out of desperation, and the market off Dominick Street where he’d   
snitched food to keep from starving.  
  
He wished he could say the evidence of his upbringing had been eradicated, but his keen eyes stopped on   
a child here and there with a hungry, feral look he recognized.  
  
Near the opposite side of the painfully familiar territory, where the flats turned into something reasonably   
well-tended with flowers in the window boxes, they found a little house squashed in the middle of a row   
of four others just like it.  Remington parked the Audi in front.  
  
He put his arm around Siobhán as they climbed the steps.  He smiled reassuringly to her as he rapped on   
the door.  
  
A small stick of a woman opened it.  She resembled a gray bird a little worse for the wear, with a face   
that blossomed in joy as she saw Siobhán.  For a moment, she ignored him. “Miss O’Callaghan, my dear,   
come, come in.”  She reached for the girl and drew her inside, kissing her cheeks in welcome.  
  
Then she turned to him. “Thank you for bring--oh, Mother Mary --’tis little Ciarán.  My, my, my,        
you’ve become a lovely sort.  You have the look of your mum, you do.  Come, _a stór_ , I’ve tea in the   
garden.”  
  
In under a minute, the stunned man had been reduced to a small boy as he toddled along in her wake.    
He’d never dreamed he would recognize his daughter’s housekeeper.  That she remembered him proved   
another kind of shock.  Siobhán turned once to see if he followed.  
  
The narrow house bore all the evidence of its exacting owner.  Lace curtains without a speck of dust,   
polished windows and glossy wood floors all spoke well of the lady he followed.  
  
They each found a white-painted wrought iron chair in the walled garden off the back of the house.    
Flowers spilled from the top of the old stone all the way to the ground where they were lost in a   
profusion of other blooms.  An ancient cat uncurled from the one sunny spot in the corner and eyed them   
all with suspicion for invading his space.  
  
 _Can’t blame you, mate.  I’d suspect me too_.  “Miss Gilpatrick--”  
  
“Ciarán, Siobhán, I no longer work for Mr. Carlisle.  Please, call me Dierdre or Miss Dierdre, if you   
prefer.”  She tilted her head, looking like a nosy wren.  “Or you can call me ‘DeeDee’ as you did when   
you were young,” she said to him.  
  
Remington rose abruptly.  “Excuse me.”  He executed a proper bow and ducked into the house before he   
lost his composure.  He found the small loo off the kitchen, closed the door and leaned into it.  
  
Ten minutes later, he splashed cold water on his red-rimmed eyes and cursed himself under his breath.    
Calmer now, he stepped into the garden where Siobhán chattered to DeeDee about her new school and   
friends.  
  
DeeDee sipped her tea while Siobhán nibbled on a cookie.  “My dear, I’d wondered what became of   
you.  That Mr. Buchanan said you were safe and happy, but none of that means a thing unless one sees   
for herself.  Now, what I would like to know is how you and Ciarán ended up together.  The angels must   
have been keeping their eyes on both of you.”  She reached over and patted Siobhán’s hand.  “He was   
always a clever one.  Delightfully puckish as a toddler.  Playing tricks and such, and always begging me   
to make sweets.”  
  
She turned to him.  “Mr. Buchanan told me you’re a fine man in America--a detective he said.  I hadn’t   
an inkling that you and my little Ciarán were one and the same.”  
  
Remington nodded.  “My wife, Laura, and I have a private investigation agency in Los Angeles.  Johnny   
found me there and asked me to take care of Siobhán.”  
  
“You were always a smart one, _a stór_.  It’s a wonder you didn’t become a criminal or thief with the poor   
examples you had growing up.”  DeeDee waggled her head.  
         
He flashed a grin at her.  “I did, DeeDee, but my wife talked me out of it.  Wouldn’t let me stick around   
unless I walked the straight and narrow, mostly anyway.”  
       
Siobhán giggled behind her hand.  
  
“Then she’s a smart one too, and I’d love to meet her someday.  So,” DeeDee said with authority,   
“Siobhán tells me her name is ‘Siobhán Steele’ now.  Mr. Andrews gave me your name as ‘Remington   
Steele.’  Does this mean you’ve adopted my charge?”  
  
He nodded.  “Aye, we wouldn’t have it any other way.  She’s going to have a little brother or sister in   
another few weeks too.”  
  
Happily, the woman drank her tea, watering eyes dancing from one to the other and back again.  “Then I   
can rest easy.”  She looked between them for a moment, pressed her lips together thoughtfully, and then   
spoke.  “I’ll not say anything poor about Mr. Carlisle, for he treated me well and paid me nicely.  I’ll   
want for nothing in my retirement.  I served his mother since I was old enough to iron napkins.”  
  
She reached for a lace-edged handkerchief from the pocket of her dress.  “My prayers have been   
answered that both of you would find happiness.  That you found it together is truly a miracle.”  She   
dabbed her eyes and sipped her tea until she smiled again.  “Forgive me.  This has been a good day.”  
  
She rose, taking up the empty biscuit tray and tea cups.  Siobhan and Remington stood with her.  “I think   
we’ll keep this short--and happy.”  The two cousins followed as she deposited the tray in the kitchen.  “If   
you would write to me, Siobhán, I’d be delighted.”  She leaned up to kiss the girl on both cheeks before   
hugging her long and hard.  
  
“Get on with you, Ciarán.  And stay out of trouble since you won’t stay out of my kitchen.”  
  
He barked with laughter as the memory of those words bubbled up.  Reaching for the woman, he hugged   
her as she had Siobhán. “I cook, you know.  Make bloody brilliant biscuits,” he said.  Siobhán nodded in   
agreement beside him.  
  
DeeDee shooed them both toward the front door and opened it.  “Then send me some.  Ciarán, Mrs.   
Carlisle would be proud of you.  Take care of Siobhán, _a stór_.  She’d expect it of you.”  
  
He gave her the lopsided smile that so charmed her when he was two.  “I haven’t a choice.  She’s my   
daughter and I love her.  Damnedest thing.”  
  
“Da!” Siobhán protested while DeeDee’s eyes shone with happiness.  
  


 

 

 


	22. Relatively Speaking

_Sunday, 4 December 1988 -- 36 weeks, 3 days  
  
_ On the way to the hotel, Siobhán turned to Remington.  “Da, I don’t want to go to Cork.  Can Mr.   
Andrews send me whatever he thinks I should have?  I wouldn’t recognize anything anyway.”  
  
Remington drew fingers through his hair in sudden relief.  He’d been doing his bloody best to not think of  
the trip they were to take tomorrow.  “I don’t see why not.  I’ll call him this evening.”  
  
“Can we go home?” she pleaded.  “I’m glad I saw Hous--DeeDee, and that we got our things, but I want   
to go home to Mom.”  
  
“You’re sure?  You don’t want to see where your mother lived?”  
       
“Do you think she was happy there?”  
  
Siobhán had him there.  “Not really,” he admitted.  
  
“Then I don’t want to see it.”  
  
Remington nodded slowly.  “I’ll tell you what: we’ll have a nice dinner tonight at a good place in Dublin,   
get a decent night’s sleep, then we’ll catch a plane in the morning.  We’ll surprise Laura by coming home   
on Monday instead of Wednesday.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Something in his shoulders unknotted.  He was immensely relieved he wouldn’t have to return to Denis   
O’Callaghan’s castle.  Facing his childhood was one thing; revisiting the scene of Laura’s torment was   
entirely another.  
  
Remington surprised Siobhán too by taking her to the Hard Rock Café in Dublin and purchasing the   
obligatory t-shirt that would be the envy of her friends at school.  Thinking ahead, they picked out t-shirts   
for the twins, Laurie Beth, Mindy and Danny.  
  
“This is totally cool, Da,” she said as she looked through the menu.  “Do you know how much I want a   
real burger and french fries?”  
  
“I think craving that particular combination makes you officially an American, Siobhán.”  
  
Glancing at his plate consisting of a pile of fries and a cheeseburger, she quipped, “So what does that   
make you?”  
  
He lifted his glass of wine and flicked his brow at her with a smile.  
  
Two minutes later as Remington tried not to wince at the scorching guitar riff blaring from the speakers,   
Siobhán asked out of the blue, “Did you mean what you told DeeDee?”  
  
“Which part?”  
  
“That you love me?  You’ve never said that to me.”  
  
Putting down his glass, he put a finger under her chin and looked her straight in the eye.  “Aye, I do at   
that.  The words don’t come easy for me, but I do.”  
  
“Good.  Because it would be weird for me to love you and you didn’t love me back, Da.”  
  
He grinned.  “I think we’ve both had enough of that in our lifetime.  I’m not interested in playing that   
little game anymore.”  
  
Siobhán’s light smile stayed with her for the rest of the day.  
  
  
  
Later that night as he readied for bed, the tumult of the day crashed over him.  He sat for a moment with   
his head in hands.  He’d done his best to keep his reactions hidden so as not to color Siobhán’s   
perceptions with those of his own, for she had her own issues to address; but his emotions had veered   
from anger at Johnny for turning him out of the only home he’d had to the bittersweet joy of discovering   
the people who had cared in their own way.   If he were home, he’d be on the way to the boxing gym.    
Instead, reaching for the telephone, he dialed.  
  
“Hello, love. … Aye, it’s been an interesting day.”  
  
  
  
Laura hung up the telephone nearly an hour later, wishing she could be in Ireland with Remington.  Then   
again, he’d told her things over the phone that he might not have been able to say face-to-face.  
  
He’d described driving to DeeDee’s house, the flood of repressed memories of her kitchen and the   
kindness she’d shown him.  “I called her ‘DeeDee’ because I couldn’t say ‘Dierdre.’  She remembered   
that, love.  I think I had to forget about her to survive, Laura.  Once or twice when I was on the streets, I’  
d think of her and Johnny’s house and wonder what I'd done to make him hate me so.  Then I learned   
not to ever look back, or I’d spend all my time feeling sorry for myself.”  
        
He told her about the letter he found from his mother to his great-aunt.  Colleen had  kept it for him   
along with his baby blanket.  “My mother, Laura.  She knew she wouldn’t live; she’d had pneumonia for   
too long.  She wanted me, Laura.”  
  
The heartbreak in his voice had her swallowing back sympathetic tears as she listened.  Feeling the kicks   
in her own belly, Laura patted the baby until it settled again, and her heart ached for Remington’s mother.  
  
He’d said they might come home early.  She hoped so.  She loved Frances, but she’d had enough and   
wanted to go home.  Another day of being faced with all her shortcomings as a wife and mother had   
Laura hiding out in the guest room rather than being sociable and lying on the couch.  For all the progress  
she and Frances had made in their relationship, her sister had nearly two decades of marriage under her   
belt to Laura’s two years.  Frances had an irritating tendency to frequently wave around that fact as a   
trophy Laura couldn’t possibly attain.  
  
She’d retreated nearly two hours earlier to brood in peace and wondered how long Frances would hold   
out before invading her space.  The footsteps down the hallway and the light rap on the door answered   
that question.  
  
“Laura?” Frances called.  
  
“Come in.”  Laura scooted up on the bed, squashing a pillow behind her for support.  
  
“How’s Remington?”  
  
Taking a deep breath, or as deep of one as she could with someone very small pressing up firmly on her   
ribcage, Laura tried to be friendly.  “I think he and Siobhán are more than ready to come home.  Sorting   
through the house was emotionally difficult for her.”  
  
But Frances didn’t help matters when she asked, “Did it bother Remington?  Going through his …   
former--”  
  
“Paramour’s house?”  Laura winced as she said it.  That particular interpretation of events hadn’t   
crossed her mind.  
  
Frances snorted.  “That’s one way to put it.”  
  
Laura tried to find the right words.  She didn’t like lying to her sister about Siobhán’s background.    
“Going to Ireland is rarely easy for Remington.  With all that happened earlier this year, it’s even more   
difficult, regardless of why he went.”  
  
Contrite, her sister laid a hand on Laura’s.  “I’m so sorry.  I didn’t think about that.”  
  
Laura rolled her eyes and moved Frances’ hand to her belly.  “I don’t have much choice.”  
  
Frances bit her lip much as Laura tended to do but smiled as she felt the baby moving.  “Do you think    
he’ll be all right?”  
  
Mollified, Laura replied, “Of course.”  
  
Frances nodded.  “You’ve done an admirable job in treating Siobhán as your own.  I’m not so sure I   
could be so forgiving of Donald if he’d brought home a son or daughter.”  
  
Laura rolled her eyes in annoyance.  “I’ve adopted her, Frances.  She is my daughter now, in every   
way.”  Irritation increased like an itch under her skin; she held on to her temper with an iron grip.  
  
“Yes, but my goodness, she looks exactly like Remington--just the way Lisa Marie looks so much like   
Elvis.  I just hope she doesn’t end up resenting you over the baby.”  
  
Very sweetly, Laura replied, “Frances, I’m certain she won’t.  We’ve included her in nearly everything.”  
  
“But she’s a teenager.  Maybe she wants her dad all to herself.  Still, I’m surprised he didn’t visit her all   
this time you were together.  That’s not a good showing on his part.”  
  
Frustrated by her sister’s needling, Laura let the secret slip.  “Damn, Frances!  Remington is absolutely   
incapable of not being a parent to his own child!  Have you not paid attention to how he is with your   
three and the twins?  He and Siobhán are cousins.  Her parents are gone, and we were given custody.”    
Feeling her head begin to throb, she placed her hand on her temple.  
  
“Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place?”  Calm as ever, Frances moved over and made Laura lie   
down.  “Don’t get upset with me for not knowing.  You were the one who fibbed.”  
  
Angry with herself, Laura grimaced and clasped her sister’s hand, gripping it hard.  “No one can know,   
Frances.  Not Mom, not the kids.  Siobhán’s safety depends on it.”  
  
“And you thought you couldn’t trust me?”  Frances sounded hurt.  
  
“No, Frances … it’s not that.”  Laura settled into the pillow, rolling to her side so she could breathe.    
“We want to protect you too.”  To try and lighten the mood, she added, “Now, Mom I wouldn’t trust.”  
  
Without preamble, Frances moved over and began rubbing Laura’s back.  She hadn’t realized how much   
it hurt until the ache flowed away with her sister’s gentle touch.  
  
“With good reason,” Frances told her.  “Half of Southern California would know by midnight.  There are   
things she simply doesn’t need to know.”  
  
Laura looked over quizzically, “You keep things from Mother?”  
  
“All the time.”  Frances sighed.  “Laura, I wish you wouldn’t underestimate me.  Donald and I   
understand that what you and Remington do isn’t very conventional, but we haven’t done anything that   
should cause you not to trust us.  As a matter of fact, we’ve come to you several times over the years   
with rather delicate matters, and they've all turned out well.  If you asked us to stand naked on the Santa   
Monica Freeway waving a red banner, we probably would.  We might ask why, but we’d do it even if   
we didn’t have an answer.”  She tapped her finger to her face.  “I wouldn’t tell Mother though, and if it   
showed up on the evening news, I’d lie until I was blue in the face.”  
  
Laura burst out laughing at her sister’s description.  When she recovered, she said, “I’m so sorry,   
Frances.  You’re right.  I should have trusted you.  I ... ”  She hesitated.  “I won’t tell you everything …   
for your own safety.  I will tell you that Remington and Siobhán share great-grandparents and only   
through a very odd quirk of fate did they learn of each other.  Siobhán’s mother passed away a decade   
ago, but her father is very much alive, is not a nice person, and has made quite a few enemies over the   
years.  So far no one realizes he has a daughter.”  
  
“So by saying she’s Remington’s child, no one will look anywhere else.”  Frances tapped her cheek again.  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
“Can I tell Donald?”  
  
“I thought spouses had special dispensation when it comes to keeping secrets,” Laura replied lightly.  
  
Frances grinned.  “You do get it.”  
  
“Better than you know, Frances,” Laura replied.  
  
  
  
  
That evening, Laura convinced Frances to take her home in the morning.  “It’s only one day, Frances.      
I’m happy to have been here, but I’m ready to go home.”  
  
“Laura, did you forget that you are on bed rest?  That means no cleaning, no cooking, no working.”  
  
“Frances, I’m going stir crazy here.”  
  
Her sister aimed a hard look at her and crossed her arms.  “I’ll make a deal with you.”  
  
Brightening, because getting Frances to negotiate was the first step in getting her to give in, Laura asked,   
“What?”  
  
“After I drop the kids at school in the morning, I’ll take you home; I’ll do whatever needs to be done.    
Since your house was clean on Thursday for the photos, I can’t imagine it’s that dirty.  What you really   
need to do is laundry and a little grocery shopping to tide everyone over until Remington gets a chance to   
go.  Am I right?”  
  
“Mostly,” Laura hedged.  She really wanted to look through the pictures too.  
  
Frances put her hands on her hips.  “Did you think I was going to drop you off so you could go to the   
grocery store and probably even the office?”  
  
Laura hid her guilty expression.  “Of course not, Frances.”  
  
“Yeah, try that on someone who doesn’t know you.”  
  
  
  
Remington checked on her again that night.  She assured him she was resting comfortably.  After she   
hung up the telephone, she curled on her side and tried not to miss him so damned much.  
  
  
  
Laura packed up her overnight bag, and Frances drove her home the next morning.  While her sister   
made a grocery list, Laura called Mildred at the office.  
  
“Hiya, Bosslady.  What’s up?”  
  
Taking a deep breath, Laura asked, “Can you run the office this week?”  
  
“Sure thing, Mrs. Steele.  Is everything okay?”  
  
“Oh, nothing that apparently a little bed rest can’t cure,” she said lightly.  
  
“Bed rest?  Since when?  Your doctor’s appointment on Friday?  What happened?”  The older lady fired   
questions at her like a drill sergeant.  
  
“Slow down, Mildred.  Dr. Berger wants me to take it easy for a few days to see if my blood pressure   
will return to normal.”  
  
“Does Mr. Steele know about this?”  
  
“Yes, and I’ve been at Frances’ house all weekend.  I’m home now.  Mr. Steele said they are coming   
home early.”  
  
“All right.  What else?”  
  
“There are some photos that Kaleb took last week.  Can you bring them by or send someone over with   
them?”  
  
“You really aren’t allowed out of bed.”  
  
“No, and Frances will sit on me if I try.”  
  
“Big sisters are a pain in the rear, but they’re great to have.”  
  
Laura chuckled.  “I suppose so.”  
  
“All right, Mrs. Steele, I’ll bring them this afternoon.  I’ll call you if anything comes up.”  
  
“Thank you, Mildred.”  
  
  
  
As if the two women had telepathy, Mildred showed up as Frances gathered her purse to go.  
  
“Hello, Mrs. Piper.”  
  
“Mildred, it’s ‘Frances’ to you.  Perfect timing.  I’ve got to go pick up the children from school.  Make   
sure Laura doesn’t move from that couch unless it’s to get in bed.”  
  
Mildred snorted in amusement.  “Yeah, sure thing.  Say ‘hi’ to the kiddos for me.”  
  
“Will do.”  Frances gave Laura a hug.  “I’ll see you on Thursday, but call me if you need anything.”    
  
“Yes, Frances,” Laura said in a comical sing-song voice.  
  
“Laura, one of these days. …”  The two girls grinned at each other before Laura waved goodbye as   
Frances stepped into the elevator.  
  
“She sure is a good one, Mrs. Steele.”  
  
“It’s just the two of us, and we’re not in the office; Mildred, will you please call me ‘Laura’?”  
  
“Sure, Laura.  I didn’t know that it bothered you.”  
  
“I’m sitting on my couch, and I’m relying on you to keep both my agency running and Mr. Steele in line   
for probably the next three months.  The least I can do is show you the respect of an equal.”  
  
Mildred rolled her eyes and sat down near her.  “As long as you understand that I’ll only call you ‘Laura’   
when it’s just us girls.”  
  
“Perfectly acceptable, Ms. Krebs,” Laura said with a straight face.  “Now, did you bring the photos?”  
  
“You and your one track mind.”  But Mildred held them out of reach.  “Promise me you won’t spend all   
evening looking at them.”  
  
“I’m bored, Mildred.  Comparing those photos to the ones Mr. Steele took will give me something to do   
this evening.”  She didn’t mention the extra set of photos she had in her possession.  
  
“Don’t you have class tonight?”  
  
Laura nodded.  “I hate to miss it, but Dr. Berger told me it’s more important to stay home.  The   
instructor is mailing me a bunch of notes to review.”  
  
“Then go to bed early tonight.”  
  
“That I will promise, Mildred.”  
  
Mildred didn’t stay long.  Her bowling league had made the finals again, and they needed their practice   
before the last tournament of the year scheduled for the weekend after next.  The Dragon Ladies had   
every intention of taking home the trophy for the second year in a row.  
  
The moment Mildred left, Laura moved to the bedroom and scattered all three sets of pictures on the   
bedcovers.  With a permanent marker, she numbered each set in sequence.    
       
At first, the sheer number of pictures to look through seemed overwhelming.  The first set from their   
stalker had nearly twenty photos.  Remington snapped six rolls, two each day for a total of one hundred   
twenty-four.  Kaleb had taken another eight, adding almost two hundred more.  Starting with the last set,   
she hoped to find a single person reappearing in Kaleb’s pictures--this would likely be their prime suspect.  
  
But she didn’t find anyone obvious.   _Damn_.  It couldn’t be that easy, of course.  She sorted the three   
sets of pictures by location so she could see each scene from various angles.  After nearly an hour of   
looking through them, she had a flash of inspiration.    
  
Scrambling out of bed, she dug through her office for a map book of Los Angeles and a magnifying   
glass.   _What a lark … honestly needing a magnifying glass to solve a case.  How often does THAT  
happen?_  Feeling guilty about being out of bed, Laura rummaged around the refrigerator and made   
herself a sandwich which she carried back to the bedroom too.  
  
She tore each location out of the map book and pinned the appropriate photos to it.  One at a time, she   
identified the angle at which the mysterious photographer must have been standing.  She notated the   
maps with circles for where the person must have stood, an “X” for Remington, and arrows to indicate   
the direction of the camera.  
  
At last, she picked out Kaleb’s and Remington’s pictures which showed that particular location.   The   
bulge of her belly made leaning over to look at them closely difficult, and her back ached from sitting for   
so long on the bed.  The next stage would involve going over the selected shots and looking for a person   
in various disguises.  She would need a good light like the one at her desk to do that.  
  
Conscious of her doctor’s orders and knowing she’d been violating them for nearly three hours now, she   
reluctantly placed the evidence into folders and set them on her nightstand.  
  
A warm bath and bubbles in the hot tub eased the soreness in her lower back--but not as well as Rei’s   
hands.  She wished heartily for a glass of wine and his company.  Since neither was forthcoming, she   
finished the bath and settled onto the sofa in the living room.  
  
Neither the news nor any of the current movies distracted her for long.  Promising herself to work the   
case for a single hour, she gathered up the folders and took them to her office.  At the end of that hour,   
Laura had three distinct possibilities that she would review in the morning.     
  
Despite the early hour of nine in the evening, weariness took its toll.  She crawled back into bed, curling   
up on her side with her face on Remington’s pillow.  She fell into a deep sleep.  
  
  
  
Nearly an hour later, the airplane from Dublin via Paris landed at LAX.  Remington shook Siobhán   
awake.  They’d planned to arrive around four that afternoon, but mechanical problems forced a   
grounding in New York.  They’d had to change planes and wait for the baggage to be switched over.  
  
Weary from the trip, Remington retrieved their luggage and found a taxi to take them home.  When they   
arrived at the darkened flat, he was filled with disappointment at not finding Laura there.  He had hoped   
to surprise her by arriving early in the evening.  Frances had been in on it, but now he wondered if she   
had decided to keep Laura with her since the flight had been delayed so long.  
  
Siobhán staggered down her hallway with a half-hearted “Good-night, Da.”  Remington dropped his bag   
on the floor.  From the kitchen, he poured a glass of water and listened to Siobhán as she moved about   
her end of the penthouse.  He waited until he saw her switch off her light before heading for his own   
bedroom.  
  
He wondered how bad a parent it would make him to leave Siobhán sleeping and go find his wife.    
Probably not the end of the world, but not going to happen all the same.  
  
But when he pushed open the bedroom door and found Laura exactly where he’d wished, he actually   
took a step backwards, thinking he’d imagined her.  Delighted, he didn’t think twice about shedding his   
clothes and crawling in beside her.  She muttered in her sleep, scooted closer to him and laced her fingers   
with his.   _Bloody hell, I don’t care what anyone says.  This is home.  
_

 

 


	23. Revelations

_Tuesday, 6 December 1988 -- 36 weeks, 5 days  
  
_ Somewhere in the night, Laura’s brain put together all the clues: the warm hand on her belly, the dark   
scent of man and cologne and the soft, familiar breathing in her ear.  The former thief had stolen his way   
into their bed and captured her for his prize.  
  
By morning, she found herself on the edge of the bed and unable to move.  Remington had snuggled in   
so tightly behind her that she’d unconsciously scooted away--but the moment she moved, so did he.    
Between the baby and him, she’d felt as if she had two hot water bottles strapped to her body--not to   
mention the rather firm part of him making spooning uncomfortable.  Sweat beaded on her skin, and she   
shoved the covers off in desperation to find a modicum of cool air.  
  
A muttered rumble behind her must have been a protest because he gathered the comforter with one   
hand and pulled it across her before settling in again to snore lightly behind her.  Fully awake now, Laura   
turned onto her back--ignoring the fact she couldn’t breathe for a moment--and resorted to an elbow to   
wake him up.  
  
Grunting irritably, he cracked open his eyes.  With recognition came a gorgeous smile, and Laura felt her   
own lips stretch wide in response.  
  
“Rei, do you consider yourself a detective.”  
  
He arched a brow quizzically.  “Yes, of course.”  
  
“A good one?”  
  
“Naturally.”  
  
“Then explain why we have a queen-sized bed and I have only ten inches of space.  If it wasn’t for your   
arm, I’d be on the floor.”  
  
Remington leaned up on his elbow and peered over her to check the distance to the floor.  When he did,   
a lock of his hair fell over his right eye, giving him a roguish look she adored.  
  
“I missed you?”  
  
“Good answer.  Now would you give me some room so I can breathe?”  
  
Happily grunting assent, he gave her a measly few inches, and she rolled to face him.  She laid her hand   
on his chest, threading her fingers through the crisp curls while he used his own fingers to stroke her hair,   
her cheek, her throat.  She captured his hand to kiss his palm.  
  
“Oh now, love, that’s surely the wrong thing to do if you want me to leave you be this pretty morn.”  
  
She gave him a sly look.  “Whoever said anything about leaving me be?”  Wrapping her arms around   
him, she said, “I missed you too.”  
  
Pulling the covers back, he tugged her nightshirt upward and laid his hand on her bare belly.  After a   
moment, the baby began kicking in response.  “Yes, _a stór_ , I’ve missed you as well.  But you’ll have to   
let me command your mother’s attention for a bit.  I’m certain in a few weeks you’ll not give me the   
opportunity.”  
  
Laura--for want of a better word--giggled.  She clapped a hand over her mouth as Remington’s head   
snapped up with a shocked grin.  “You sound like a school girl.”  She shook her head in denial, but he   
crawled over her with his own wide smile to land a sizzling kiss.  He ran a single finger along the outer   
curve of her breast, and she laughed as it tickled.  
  
“Not fair.  I can’t possibly defend myself in this state.”  
  
“True.  Perhaps I can change the rules.”  He rolled to his back, taking her with him so that she straddled   
his very naked, lean form.  He tugged on her nightshirt so that she would take it off.  
  
She did, feeling ungainly and self-conscious about her body in this state, but Remington’s eyes lit up.        
“ ’Tis not fair for you to be so lovely this way, Mrs. Steele.”  His hands came up to cup her breasts with   
thumbs stroking the sensitive nipples.  
  
She closed her eyes to concentrate on the sensation as he leaned up to take one full globe into his mouth.    
His arousal pressed hard against her, but Remington planted one hand firmly on her hip to keep her still   
until she writhed from his dancing tongue on her breast.  He switched to the other side, suckling lightly at   
first, then drawing hard and deep until she panted his name and rocked against his erection.     
  
When she opened her eyes, there was nothing cool about his expression.  Blue eyes glowed with   
something more than just lust, and his ever-roaming hands drifted from her face to her breasts to her hips   
and back again.  
  
She rose enough to release his trapped arousal and sank down to take him in, frustrated that she couldn’t   
have him as deeply as she’d like without causing herself some discomfort.  
  
But he winked at her and eased her back with caressing hands until she sat up straight.  One of his hands   
found its way to the juncture of her thighs.  His thumb stroked her knot as she moved in time with the   
flicking.  Patiently, he teased and circled until her inner muscles clamped down hard and she lost herself   
to his touch with a soft gasp.  She dragged her eyes open in time to see his blue ones glaze over and his   
hands slip down to clutch at her hips while he called her name.  
  
Ever mindful of her condition, he assisted her as she pulled away but snuggled up to her backside once   
more.  
  
Laura lay in a daze for nearly thirty whole seconds until her brain kicked in.  “Frances knew you were   
going to be home last night.  That’s why she didn’t put up more of a fuss when I wanted to leave.”  
  
“Mm-hmm,” he agreed, sounding only half awake.  “I talked to Donald before we boarded the plane.  He   
told Frances.”  
  
Laura tried to calculate the time difference in her head.  “But I didn’t talk to her until Sunday afternoon   
about coming home.”  
  
“And I called Donald’s answering service at the office.  They contacted him and he returned my call.”  
  
Her eyes narrowed as she remembered Donald’s muttering something about Sunday emergencies.  “Very   
devious, Mr. Steele.  I’d wondered why you didn’t call yesterday afternoon.”  
  
“You weren’t worried?”  
  
“I assumed you were on your way home.”  
  
“Correct assumption.  But I’d planned to be here by dinner.  Unfortunately, a mechanical problem forced   
us to land in New York for nearly six hours.  Siobhán couldn’t keep her eyes open on the ride home.”    
Peering over her shoulder, he noted, “You really aren’t going back to sleep, are you?”  
  
“No.  Somebody woke me up.”  
  
“Well, whoever it was, I’ll be sure to berate him soundly later.”  
  
“You do that.  I’m going to take a shower.”  Laura stifled a grunt as she sat up.  
  
Remington leaned up on an elbow again and scrubbed his beard.  “Want company?”  
  
“I’d love some.”  
  
She thought the shower would turn into round two, but Remington had other ideas.  With exquisite   
tenderness, he washed her hair--taking his time about it.  After the first few minutes, she shifted   
restlessly.  Her brain had already settled in at her desk to work the case, and Remington’s ministrations   
served only to distract her.  
  
He knew her all too well and paused as he rinsed out her tresses.  “Love, we’ll look through the photos in   
a bit.  At this moment, I need you.”  
  
All thoughts of detective work came to a screeching halt as she caught the traces of strain left on his   
face.  “Rei, what else happened?”  
  
Shaking his head, he told her, “Nothing more, I promise.  I’ve told you every last bit of it.  It’s--”  He   
pulled her to him, skin to skin, with only water dripping between them.  “It’s that everything about you is   
good and clean and right, Laura.”  
  
She brought her arms up around his shoulders, using one hand to clasp the back of his neck.  Without a   
word, she returned his touch--washing his hair, laving his body with soap and rinsing every last bubble   
away.  
  
Afterward, he caught her in a tender kiss.  “That’s still hard for you.”  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
“Shutting down your brain to focus on me … and on emotions.”  
         
“Sometimes,” she admitted.  “It’s easier now.”  
  
He took her favorite soap and lathered his hands before smoothing them over her shoulders. “It’s an   
even trade, I suppose.”  
  
“What’s that?” she asked again.  
  
“You’ve learned to turn off your thinking on occasion, and I’ve had to learn to hold an intelligent   
conversation while delirious with sleep or lust.  I’ll use this morning as an excellent example of both.”    
His slick hands glided down her belly and back to finish washing her body.  
  
Remington’s ability to make her laugh at herself undoubtedly ranked as one of the major reasons she’d   
fallen for him.  She raised her eyebrows.  “If I recall, the lust had been satiated before my brain kicked   
in.”  
  
“Yes, but I would have been perfectly happy sleeping for another four or five hours.”  He reached across   
the shower and shut off the water and then deftly snatched a pair of towels from the heated rack.  
  
Laura dried off and wound it about her breasts as Remington did the same around his hips.  She ran her   
hand through the dark mat on his chest, just because she could.  “Yes, but I have another appointment   
with my doctor in two hours.  I thought you might like to go.”  
  
“Didn’t you have an appointment on Friday?”  
  
“The doctor wants to see how I’m doing with the bed rest.”  
  
“Ah.  Speaking of which--”  He lifted her into his arms, carried her to the bed, then disappeared into the   
bathroom only to come out with an armful of her cosmetics.  
  
“Rei.  I’m not an invalid.  I’m allowed to at least have a little time in the bathroom.”  
  
“You’ve had it.  Now you can dry your hair and whatnot from the bed while I make breakfast.”  
  
She threw up her hands in frustration.  She might have been better off at Frances’ house.  
  
As Remington pulled a soft navy shirt over his head, he could see by the annoyance on Laura’s face that   
the moment he left the room, she would be up and about to finish her own toilette.  Manfully concealing   
a grin at the irritation flashing in her maple-brown eyes, he dropped a kiss on her cheek.  “Yell when    
you’re done, and I’ll carry you to the sofa.”  
  
He ducked out of the room and closed the door in time for something solid, her hairbrush probably, to   
thunk against the door.  Sometimes Laura could be terribly predictable.  But the end result would mean   
that she would at least make an effort to follow the doctor’s orders when he was around rather than   
ignoring them entirely.  
  
A quick peek into Siobhán’s room proved the girl slept soundly.  When he turned around, he stopped to   
look into the baby’s nursery.  The circus theme had turned out beautifully.  He ran one finger along the   
crib and touched the blanket Laura had put there.  Suddenly, he was glad Siobhán insisted on packing the   
few things he’d had as a child.  Laura would be thrilled to open those boxes.  Then he snorted and   
touched his middle finger to the bridge of his nose.  Boxes again.  
  
Closing the door behind him, he headed for the kitchen to whip up a gourmet breakfast for three.  As the   
scent of fresh crepes wafted down the hallway, Siobhán appeared.  
  
“Do those come with strawberries?”  
  
“Of course, _a stór_.”  
  
Laura walked out of the bedroom.  “Probably fresh whipped cream too.”  
  
“Mom!”  Siobhán dashed across the room to give her a long, hard hug, then laughed and placed her hand   
on Laura’s belly.  “She kicked me!”  
  
“It’s nice that the baby is doing it to someone else for a change,” Laura said.  “Are you all right,   
sweetie?”  She walked with Siobhán into the kitchen where each of them took a chair at the island.    
  
Remington passed out glasses of orange juice and turned to flip a crepe onto the stack he’d built.  
  
The teen shrugged and worried a curl.  “I wish you’d been there.  I didn’t realize it would be so hard on   
Da.”  
  
Remington lifted his brows and shared a quick glance with Laura.  Reluctantly, he admitted, “Very   
perceptive, _a stór_.  But I think we managed all right.  We’re home now where we all belong.”       
  
Over breakfast, Laura asked Siobhán, “Do you want to stay here while we go to my appointment?  We   
won’t be long.”  
  
The teen grinned.  “You mean I can go back to sleep?”  
  
“Do it now.  You’ll have school tomorrow.”  
  
Siobhán groaned.  “I know.  I think I have some homework to do too.”  
  
“Then rest and we’ll get back on schedule today.  We’ll be home by lunchtime.  
  
  
  
On the drive to Cedars-Sinai, Laura told Remington about the clues she’d put together the previous   
evening.  “I think when I have an hour or so later today, I’ll be able to identify someone, even in   
disguise.  If we need to blow up some pictures, do you think you’ll have time later today for that?”  
  
“If you don’t mind my turning the bathroom into a darkroom again.”  
  
“After the picture you took of Siobhán and me at the beach, you can turn the bathroom into a darkroom   
anytime you like.”  
  
Remington grinned at her.  “Like that one, do you?”  
  
“Nearly as much as you do,” she shot back.  
  
  
  
Dr. Berger personally tested Laura’s blood pressure and came away cautiously optimistic.  “Better.  But I   
don’t think we’re out of the woods yet.  Let’s do a pelvic exam and see how you’re cooking.”  Several   
minutes later, Dr. Berger finished and stripped off her gloves before giving Laura a hand to sit up.  “Well,   
your blood pressure is down, but you’ve begun dilating.”  
  
“Isn’t that too early?” Laura asked worriedly.  
  
“Not really.  You’ve got four weeks to go, and you’re only at a centimeter, with no effacing yet, so it’s   
not unusual.  But I don’t want you traveling out of town for the holidays.”  
  
Laura shook her head.  “We’re at my sister’s house in Tarzana this year.”  
  
“Excellent.  Now let’s talk about your work schedule.”  Remington crossed over to stand behind Laura   
and listen as Dr. Berger continued.  “The rest did you a world of good.  Stay off your feet for the   
remainder of the week.  I won’t insist on bed rest for now, just a lot of common sense.  Let’s try only   
two or three days at the office instead of five.  I’ll let you pick the days, but work in a three-day   
weekend somewhere.  Come see me on Monday.  If it stays level, we can stick to your new schedule.”  
  
Remington laid a hand on Laura’s shoulder.  “If she’s dilating, doesn’t that mean we’re getting close?”  
  
Dr. Berger smiled.  “Yes and no.  Moms take a long time to dilate and efface with their first babies.     
You’ll probably start noticing Braxton-Hicks contractions.  Generally, those are short, far apart and don’t   
hurt much.  When the contractions are long, close together and uncomfortable, then you’ll know we’re   
getting somewhere.  But we’ll be checking weekly from now on until the baby comes.”  
  
His hand squeezed down on her shoulder.  Laura looked up to see him nervously biting his thumb.  But   
he caught her glance and held up a hand to ward off questions.  
  
  
  
Laura relaxed into the leather of the Auburn, enjoying the cool December breeze as they drove home   
with the top down.  Idly, she commented, “I’m glad you were home to hear what Dr. Berger had to say.”  
  
“So am I.  What are your thoughts about working the rest of the week?”  
  
Laura tilted her head against the seat as she thought about it.  “I don’t know.  I’m used to being in and   
out of the office, but we rarely stay home and do nothing.  Or at least, we can’t skip work and do the   
kind of nothing that involves you, me and a lack of clothing.”  
  
Remington chuckled.  “No.  I don’t suppose that’s on the approved list of things to do all afternoon.”  He   
started to speak again, then subsided.  
  
“What is it?” she asked.  
  
“Ah … at what point are we ‘cut off’ so to speak?”  
  
Nonchalantly, she replied, “I haven’t asked.  I’m sure one of those books has the answer.”  
  
“Ah … well, perhaps.”  
  
“What do they say?”  
  
“That it’s up to you.”  He scratched his nose before making the turn up Rossmore Avenue.  
  
“Then I can’t imagine why you should have any concerns in that department, Mr. Steele.  I wasn’t   
exactly fending you off this morning.”  
  
“But you’ll tell me?” he urged.  
  
Reaching for his hand, she pressed a kiss to the back of it.  “I’ll tell you.  But don’t plan on anytime   
soon.  Pregnancy hasn’t changed anything about how attractive I find you--and if you have a problem   
with it, close your eyes.”  
  
He looked away to hide his grin, failing entirely, for it still lit up his face when he looked at her.  “Good   
Lord, Laura, I never imagined you would be so … uninhibited at this point.”  
  
“I don’t know why.  I’ve certainly not shown much restraint in the bedroom so far,” she said with a sly   
gleam.  
  
“To my absolute, utter delight.”  
  
Laura looked down at their hands.  “Does it bother you?”  
  
“Love, if this morning didn’t make things perfectly clear, I’m not quite sure how else I should express my  
satisfaction with our frolics in the bedroom, even at this late date.”  He laced his fingers with hers and   
returned the kiss to her hand.  
  
  
  
After lunch, Siobhán noodled around on the piano keys, trying to copy some bluesy riffs Kate had been   
teaching her to play.  Laura listened for a few minutes before retrieving the files she’d left in the bedroom  
and taking them into the office.  She laid out the photographs and used a marking pencil to circle the   
individual she wanted to compare to the other photos.  
  
Remington lifted one and frowned at the person she’d indicated.  “Why does this one look familiar?”  
          
She handed him another picture. “Because she’s in this one too?”  
  
He compared the two, laying them side by side on the desk as he sat across from her.  Seeing the way   
she’d narrowed down the photos to only those with any possibility of containing the suspect filled him   
with admiration.  This kind of dogged determination proved exactly why Laura excelled as a private   
investigator.  
  
While they filtered through the pictures, Remington listened with half an ear as Siobhán experimented on   
the piano.  Laura absentmindedly tapped her foot in time to the music.  
  
But when Siobhan tried a particular bluesy riff and missed the key change several times in a row, Laura   
called out, “Drop from a major key to a minor key halfway through the second series of notes.”  
  
As Siobhán made another attempt, Remington’s head snapped up. “Minor key.  Oh, bloody hell, tell me   
it’s not that easy.”  Laura looked at him curiously as he began digging through a stack of files on the shelf  
above the desk.  “Love, what was Major Descoine’s first name?”  
  
“Percy.  Why?”  
  
“Penny Key.  The client of Sandra’s that never quite sat right with her.  I’ve looked at it a dozen times   
and didn’t make the correlation.”  
  
“What are you talking about?”  
          
His head spun with connections.  “High Road to China, Tom Selleck, Bess Armtrong, 1983.  Doesn’t   
really apply to our case, only to hers.  A daughter looking for her missing father.  He’s been gone … oh,   
five years?  Or that’s what she told Sandra.”  
  
Laura tapped the desk in frustration.  “Do you mind translating on this one?”  
  
Remington jumped up and began pacing in the tiny room, punctuating his thoughts with a jab of his finger   
in the air.  “Penny Key came to us looking for her father Percy Key.  Penny is another name for coin.    
We never found out the name of Percy Descoine's daughter, but he left the coin in the safe deposit box   
all those years ago as a clue.  What do you want to bet that his daughter’s name is a play on words?    
Penny Descoine.  She wasn’t looking for her father … she was scoping us out.”  
  
“For what?”  
  
He shook his head.  “I don’t know.  But this,” he picked up a picture, “is Descoine’s daughter.”  
  
Laura looked hard at the photograph, then compared it to a second and a third.  “I think you’re right, but   
how can we be sure?”  
  
Remington had a flash of inspiration.  "Hand me a sheet of paper, please, love.”  Laura passed one over,   
and he sketched a fast portrait of “Minor” Descoine from memory.  “Fax that to the office.  We’ll call   
Sandra and see if she recognizes her.”  
  
“Excellent idea, Mr. Steele,” Laura said with admiration.  She turned in her chair to send the fax through.  
  
Remington dialed the office number.  “Ian, mate, pass me over to Sandra.  There’s a good man.”  
  
“Hello, Mr. Steele.”  
  
“Sandra, good afternoon.  Ah, there’s a drawing coming across the fax machine.  Would you take a look   
at it?”  
  
“Sure thing, Mr. Steele.  Let me go get it.”  He drummed his fingers for a moment.  “I have it.  Why are   
you faxing a picture of Penny Key to me?”  
  
“Thank you, Ms. Martinez.  You’ve confirmed my suspicions.  I believe we’ve discovered the identity of   
our problem child.  Ah, one moment--Laura’s waving at me.”  He handed the telephone to her.  
  
“Sandra, patch me through to Mildred, will you? … Mildred, yes, I’m feeling fine.  No … no bed rest, I   
just have to take it easy.  May I ask a favor? … I know skip traces aren’t your game anymore, but I   
think we’ve found our culprit.  Will you find out everything you can on a Penny Descoine or a Penny   
Key and double-check that Percy Descoine hasn’t escaped from the pen?  Ask Sandra to help since this   
was her client.”  She chuckled at something Mildred said.  “Yes, Mr. Steele knows I’m working.  He’s   
babysitting me. … Yes, they came home last night.”  Stopping her from asking any more questions,   
Laura interrupted her.  “Mildred, can you call me as soon as you have the information? … That will be   
great.”  
  
After she wrapped up the conversation, she handed him two more pictures where she’d identified Miss   
Descoine in yet another cover.  “Rei, I think she’s got a camera in that one.”  
  
Remington peered at the photo.  “Good eye.  I’ll enlarge it later if necessary.  Can we place her at all the   
locations now?”  
  
Laura sorted through the nine file folders, clipping the revealing photo to the front cover whenever they   
had one.  “Five of the nine.  Let’s try to find her in the last four.”  
  
The detectives each took two of the remaining files.  Remington again appreciated Laura’s methodical   
thoroughness.  She’d stapled the map inside the file folder.  On it, she’d marked his location, her location   
and the probable angle of the photograph of him the perpetrator had snapped.  The photo was clipped to   
the folder as well.  
  
On the left side, she had two envelopes of pictures--one each for the photos Remington and Carter had   
taken.  From those, she carefully selected those that captured the area where the suspect must have been   
standing and attached them to the outside of each envelope.  All were carefully labeled.  
  
With all the preliminary work done, it took Remington only a few minutes to stare at the pictures and find  
Miss Descoine in two of them.  He reached for the marking pencil and circled her face in both.  She had   
dressed as a young man with a beard, but her rounded eyes were unmistakable.  
  
Laura stole the pencil away from him and marked her own photo.  “That’s it, then,” she said.  “We’ve   
got her at every single location.  If that’s not stalking, I don’t know what else qualifies.”  
  
Remington leaned an elbow on the desk.  “So what are you going to do now?”  
  
“I think we need to go to the police on this one.  We can slap a restraining order on her, but that’s all.    
She hasn’t made any actual threats.  Beyond that, the only thing we can do is confront her.”  
  
Remington scratched his cheek.  “Think LAPD will pull her in for questioning?”  
          
Laura nodded.  “They might if we ask nicely.  Got any ideas on motive?  Besides the obvious that we   
put her father in prison for the second time in a row?”  
  


 

 


	24. Questions

_Tuesday afternoon, 6 December 1988 -- 36 weeks, 5 days  
  
_ Siobhán gave up playing the piano and collapsed on the sofa.  Remington closed his files and set them to   
the side.  “Care for tea?”  
  
Laura stifled her disappointment at not continuing the investigation but admitted to herself she’d been   
working or on her feet nearly the whole day.  “I’d love some.”  
  
She sat next to Siobhán while Remington bustled about the kitchen heating water and setting fruit, cheese   
and crackers on a tray.  Laura stroked her daughter’s hair, noting the faint shadows under her eyes. “Still   
tired?” she asked.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“You okay?”  
  
Siobhán crossed her arms and rested her head on the pillow beside Laura.  “Mom?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“I didn’t want to go get my mother’s things.  Does that make me a bad kid?”  
          
Laura’s heart ached at the sadness in her voice.  “No, Siobhán.  Rei told me you asked if your solicitor   
could send them on.  It’s not that you didn’t want her things, it’s that you didn’t want to go to--” she   
stumbled on her words before recovering, “Denis’ house to get them.”  
  
“Does that make me a coward because I didn’t want to go there?”  
  
 _Only if it makes me one too._  “No.  But will you tell me why you didn’t want to go?”  
  
Very softly, Siobhán said, “I’d overheard that Denis killed my mother.  Da said he’d heard the same   
thing.  I can’t go when my mom must have hated living there.”  Siobhán shifted so that her head rested   
on Laura’s shoulder, and Laura moved so that she could wrap her arms around her daughter.  “I … I   
hardly remember her … but I miss her anyway.”  A steady stream of tears began rolling down Siobhán’s   
cheeks.  “Please don’t take it wrong, Mom.  I’m glad I have you and Da.”  
  
“I understand, Siobhán,” Laura soothed. “It’s no different from when I wish my father hadn’t left when I   
was young.  He died several years later, and I never had a chance to know him or to ask why he left.  So   
I have all these questions, and I won’t ever have the answers.”  
         
Siobhán gave up and cried all over her shoulder.  “It’s not fair,” she said.      
  
Laura held on to her, meeting Remington’s gaze from across the room.  His pinched face told her he’d   
overheard.  “No, Siobhán, it’s not,” Laura told her daughter.  
  
“Why, Mom?  Why did Denis hurt my mother?  Why didn’t Johnny save her?”  
  
Laura wished she had better answers for her daughter.  “Siobhán, Johnny respected your mother’s   
wishes.  We do that with people we love even if we don’t like their choices.”  
  
“But why didn’t he make her stay with me?”  
  
Laura pushed Siobhán’s hair out of her face and caressed the tears away.  “Maybe they both knew that   
the best way to keep you safe from Denis was to do exactly what they did.  Denis wasn’t sane, Siobhán.    
He probably would have come after Erin even if she was in Johnny’s home.  I think he was terribly   
possessive of her and couldn’t stand the idea of her being with anyone else.”  
  
Siobhán sniffled back tears and took the tissue Remington held out.  “Would he have hurt me?”  She   
blew her nose noisily and sat up, taking the tea he had made.  “Thank you, Da.”  
  
“You’re welcome.”  Remington set Laura’s in front of her on the coffee table and made a point of   
returning to the kitchen.  
  
Laura wiggled until she could sit reasonably upright.  “Yes, Siobhán, I think he would.  As a parent, I   
understand that your mom had a terrible choice to make--to either let you go and hope you would grow   
up in spite of the circumstances, or to keep you with her and know you might have a more sinister fate in   
store.”  
          
Siobhán stared at the windows while she though.  Neither Remington nor Laura interrupted her.  They   
sipped their drinks in silence.  
  
At last, the gray-eyed teen nodded solemnly.  “I get that.  But it doesn’t excuse Johnny for leaving me   
alone.”  
  
Laura nodded.  “I agree.  He could have taken you to London with him and protected you there.  But,”   
she held up a hand, “Johnny’s made a lot of people angry.  He’s used a lot of people and hurt a great   
many more.  Any number of those people have connections and might have used you to retaliate against   
him--by either hurting you, killing you or holding you for ransom.  Denis was at the top of that list,   
Siobhán.”  Laura took Siobhán’s hand between her own.  “Johnny loves you.  He may not be a very   
good father, but he does love you.  That much was apparent when he came to see Remington before   
Interpol found him.”  
  
“Why did Johnny go see Da?  Johnny said he hadn’t seen Da since before I came to live with him, and   
Da didn’t want anything to do with him.”  
  
Laura’s eyebrows flew up, and she had to stifle a little shiver of her own. She hadn’t realized that   
Siobhán knew that much about the two men’s relationship.  From her vantage point, she could see Rei   
listening intently from the kitchen.  
  
With her usual rapid thought process, Laura determined how much to say and what to conceal.  “It’s a   
complicated story, sweetheart, and it isn’t very pretty.  The short version is that Remington and I were in   
Ireland earlier this year for a vacation.  Denis wanted Remington to steal a diamond for him so that he   
could sell it and hire someone to kill Johnny.  He ... threatened us.  We called Interpol, who helped us to   
catch Denis and put him in jail.  Johnny caught wind of it and realized that Remington Steele and Ciarán   
McGee were one and the same.  I think he did a little checking and liked what he saw.”  
  
“So why did Interpol arrest Johnny?”  
  
“Because Denis and Johnny, along with four other men, were partners in a lot of very illegal activities.    
When Interpol investigated Denis, it all linked back to the others--including Johnny.”  
  
Siobhán shook her head.  “I don’t really get it.”  
  
Laura took a deep breath and tried again.  “Rei told you that Denis and Johnny were partners a long time   
ago, right?”  Siobhán nodded.  “After your mom died, Johnny did his best to drop Denis from the   
partnership, but everything was so tied up together that they couldn’t completely shake free of each   
other.  In the end, those links are what led Interpol to your father.”  
  
With a sad maturity Siobhán shouldn’t have had at fifteen, she looked askance at Laura.  “There’s a   
whole lot more that you’re not telling me.”  
  
Not surprised in the least at the girl’s sharp insight, Laura nodded.  “You’re right.  But it has to do with   
Denis, not Johnny and Erin.  When you’re older, I’ll tell you more.”  
  
“Did you ever meet Denis?”  
  
Laura quelled the urge to rub her knee.  Instead, she replied, “Just once, Siobhán.  That was enough.  I,   
for one, think your parents made the right choices when it came to you.”  She gave her daughter one   
more quick hug.  “Will you be all right?”  
  
Siobhán nodded.  “Yeah.  I think I’m going to go take a nap.  I’m still on Ireland time.”  
  
“Good.  We’ll talk more later if you want.”  
  
But the girl shook her head.  “Not now.  Maybe when all of the stuff from Ireland gets here.”  A shy   
gleam appeared in her eyes.  “Some of Da’s stuff is in there.”  
  
“Remington’s?” Laura asked. The possibility hadn't crossed her mind.  
  
She nodded this time as she stood.  “Some toys, pictures from his room, that sort of thing.  I have a   
teddy bear that was his.  He tried to leave it all behind, but I wouldn’t let him.  Told him you would be   
ticked.”  
  
Laura snorted.  “Damn right.  I can’t wait to see what you brought back.”  
  
Siobhán shrugged and wandered off to her room.  
  
“Nicely done, Laura.”  
  
She collapsed backward on the sofa as her husband came to sit next to her.  “For a moment, I felt like a   
suspect trying to dodge the answers, but we promised we wouldn’t lie to her.”  
  
“You didn’t.  Now scoot over so I can put my hands on your belly.”  
  
  
  
After dinner, Mildred faxed over a stack of data and called to give Laura the rundown on what she’d   
discovered on Penny Descoine.  “I’ve got an address for her dad’s old house, but not much else.  I   
haven’t been able to trace her whereabouts prior to that.  Check with me in the morning; I’m waiting for   
a couple of calls that might pan out.”  
  
When Laura told Remington, she caught his look and crossed her arms.  “Not tonight,” she insisted.  
  
“Why not?” he asked irritably.  
  
“Two reasons.  One, you’re still jetlagged.  Two, if we’re lucky, Miss Descoine will spend tomorrow   
night in jail, and there won’t be anyone around to press charges for trespassing.”  
  
“Damn your logic, Laura.  I was looking forward to a bit of fun,” Remington muttered.  
  
“Yes, well, if she’s anything like her father, she’s booby-trapped her whole house.  You’ll need your wits   
about you if you’re to disarm all of them.”  Laura recalled her own midnight foray the first time she’d   
nailed Major Descoine.  It hadn’t been pretty.  She’d narrowly avoided a nasty trap.  If she’d been too   
hasty, she’d have been discovered at best, seriously injured at worst.  
  
Reluctantly, he agreed.  Later though, after Siobhán had gone to bed and while Laura soaked in the tub,   
Remington placed a call to his brother-in-law.  He told Murphy what he and Laura had pieced together   
that day.  
  
“What’s your take on Miss Descoine, Murph?”  
  
“I don’t know.  I only vaguely remember Laura telling me about Descoine when she put him away the   
first time.  Didn’t his girlfriend commit suicide instead of going to jail?”  
  
Remington nodded.  “Yes.  Killed herself in an acid bath.  Strange bloke.  Wants to kill us, but likes to   
see if we can outwit him.  Score’s three to zip, and I’d rather keep it that way.”  
  
“So, what’s his daughter got to do with it?”  
  
“She helped him the last time.  Tripped something or another to set fire to the flat they’d set up.  Come   
to think of it, they had a number of pictures of us on the mantle then too.”  He grimaced in memory.    
“She seemed delighted and shocked that we managed to escape.  In the end, we caught him, but we   
never found her.”  
  
“So maybe she has a screw loose too?”  
  
“Perhaps.  Certainly, she didn’t have any compunction about trying to kill us.”  
  
“How old is she?”  
  
“Oh, I’d guess she was in her late teens.  That was five or six years ago.  So twenty-one, maybe?”   
Remington mused.  “I think Sandra indicated twenty-two in the file, but that may not be entirely   
accurate.”  
  
“You going to bring in the police?”  
  
“I might.  But they can’t do much more than harass her in the same way she’s been irritating us.”  
  
“But if she violates a restraining order, you’ll have grounds to have her thrown in jail.”  
  
“Aye.  That's something.”  He scratched the back of his neck.  “I want to take a look at her place.”  
  
“Hell, yeah.  But what does Laura think about that?”  
  
“Not tonight on account of jetlag.  Tomorrow night is fair game.”  
  
“You think she’ll stay put?”  
  
Remington chuckled.  “Sure, if only because she’s terrified of being stuck in bed for the next four and a   
half weeks.  Doctor’s orders--she’s not to work on any more cases except for paperwork.”  
  
“I’m happy not to be in your shoes.”  
  
“There is that,” he paused.  “Murph--you should have seen the way she put together the clues before I   
came home,” he continued with pride.  “Pinpointing the angles Miss Descoine took the photos from was   
sheer brilliance.  I’d have been sorting through two hundred photos looking for a familiar face.”  
  
Murphy snorted.  “Just proves a point that she can do a great deal more from the desk than she cares to   
admit.”  
  
“We all can.”  
  
“But the fun is getting out of the office.”  
  
Remington grinned in agreement.  “My sentiments exactly.  Nevertheless, Laura needs a few more   
options while we have an infant.”  
  
“You do know her.”  
  
“Aye, Michaels.  I always have.”  
  
Silence reigned on the line for a moment.  “Just how long would you have waited for her?”  
  
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

 

 


	25. Answers

_Wednesday, 7 December 1988 -- 36 weeks, 6 days_  
         
Laura nudged Remington out of bed.  They took tea in the living room while watching the Janet   
Hawkins’ morning news story.  All in all, Laura found the story engaging and professional.  In the   
meantime, Siobhán pried herself out of bed to get ready for school.  
  
The Steeles landed in Detective John Baylor’s office at ten-thirty.  They’d worked with him in the past   
and enjoyed a good rapport.  After exchanging greetings, Remington held Laura’s chair before taking his   
own.    
  
“Mrs. Steele, no offense intended, but I haven’t taken my refresher course for childbirth, so don’t drop   
this kid on my watch.”  
  
She laughed.  “I still have nearly a month to go; I think we’ll be all right.”  
  
“Just making sure.  So what brings you two here today?  Normally, I get calls from you to come clean up   
a mess or arrest someone.”  
  
In a move that had long been second nature to the partners, Laura deferred to Remington to open the   
conversation.  He had a knack for establishing their position--in this case, the seriousness of the   
situation.    
  
“Detective Baylor, three weeks ago, I began receiving photos.”  He handed over the first three   
envelopes.  “No note, no return address, no threatening calls. Just pictures.  First of my daughter, then   
Laura, then the three of us.”  
  
Baylor slipped the photos out of each envelope in turn while the Steeles waited for him to digest the   
information.  “All right.  Then what happened.”  
  
Laura spoke up.  “We set a trap using the media.  If you caught Channel 3 this morning, then you'll   
know I did a series of interviews with Janet Hawkins.  We did it last week for three days while   
Remington and another of our associates followed us under cover and took reconnaissance pictures of   
the area.  On Friday, we received this envelope of pictures.”  
  
John looked over that too, with a frown on his face.  “Have you received anything else?”  
  
“No,” answered Laura.  Then she gave him a sly grin.  “But we know who is taking the pictures.”    
Carefully, she laid out the file folders--explaining the deception Remington and Kaleb had played out--  
with the series of photos.  She placed the revealing ones on top.  “Our culprit is a young woman named   
Penny Descoine.  I--we put her father in jail the first year the agency opened.  When he got out, he came   
back after us twice.  The first time he tried to set up Mr. Steele to take the fall for a homicide.  The   
second time, he set up a series of traps and tried to kill us.  He’s still in prison for that one.”  
  
John listened intently the whole time.  “So you think she’s retaliating?”  
  
Remington spoke.  “We don’t know.  She tripped one of the traps on us the last time, which was four   
years ago last February, so it appears she has little compunction about killing us either.  There’s more.”    
He went on to explain how Penny had come into the agency earlier that year.  “Our best guess is that she   
was doing a little spying of her own … to what end is up for speculation.”  
  
“So what do you want to do?” the police detective asked.  
  
Laura laced her fingers across her belly.  “What do you suggest?”  
  
“We can bring her in for questioning.  If we determine she’s a credible threat through her own testimony,   
we might be able to file charges for intent.  At the very least, we can file a restraining order based on the   
evidence you’ve presented.  If she violates that, you’ll have grounds to press charges.  Obviously, you   
understand all this.  You know you can’t confront her directly without causing additional problems.”    
Laura nodded, and Remington merely assumed a neutral expression while John added, “But I will let you   
sit behind the glass while we question her.  We owe you that much.  Ah, do you have the files from the   
original three encounters with her father?”  
  
Laura laid them on his desk.  “We do.  They should correspond to the ones here at the police station.”  
  
“Will you be available today if we can pick her up for questioning?”  
          
“Certainly,” Remington confirmed.  “Unless, of course, Mrs. Steele decides we have more important   
things to do.”  He eyed her belly comically.  
  
John chuckled as he wrote down Remington’s pager number.  “Then let’s get the paperwork started.”  
  
  
  
An hour later the judge had signed the orders, and two officers headed to Miss Descoine’s apartment to   
deliver them.  
  
In the meantime, Remington took Laura to lunch at a new fusion restaurant headed by one of his favorite   
chefs.  He took her hand to drop a kiss on her knuckles.  “Now, no more talk about the case.  Put your   
feet up under the table and pretend to relax.  I’d rather you not flunk your blood pressure test next week,   
or I’ll be saddled with your irritation for another month.”  He stroked her cheek with a thumb and   
planted another kiss on her lips to show her he wasn’t trying to be hurtful  
  
Consciously taking a deep breath, Laura took his advice and changed topics.  “Let’s talk about Kaleb   
Carter then.”  
  
“Carter?  What’s he done?”  
  
“A better job than either of us could have hoped.  He’s been here over two years already.  He’ll have his   
own license by the end of next summer.”  
  
Remington raised his eyebrows.  “I hadn’t realized.  What do you have in mind?”  
  
“I’d like to turn him loose to work cases on his own with only minimal supervision.  By the time his   
internship is up next summer, he’ll be used to taking full responsibility for his work.”  
  
He pursed his lips and nodded.  “Are you thinking of expanding again?”  
  
Laura turned her hands up.  “How do you feel about Kaleb’s abilities in the security business?”  
  
“He still needs seasoning.  He has the basics, but I’m still doing a great deal of fine-tuning.  Carter’s best   
assets are in the field and doing recovery work.  What do you have in mind?”  
  
“I agree.  I’d like to find someone to work with you specifically on the security side of our agency.    
Someone you can train on those finer aspects.  Then I’d like to bring in an apprentice to shadow Sandra   
and Kaleb while they do more of the standard investigative work of the agency.”  
  
“Leaving you and me to … ?”  
  
Laura mouth curved up on one side.  “Train Interpol’s agents and cherry-pick which cases we take on.  I   
can’t pretend anymore that we’ll be available all the time to work whatever comes across our desk.  The   
two children in our house have to be our priority.  I don’t see any problem with the security side of the   
business, but I don’t think either of us wants to do that exclusively.  If we have enough detectives to   
cover the routine work, we can get involved in the tougher cases and the ones that need our particular   
touch.”  
  
“Isn’t this what you’d planned all along?” he reminded her.  
  
“More or less.”  
  
“No more concerns about not solving interesting cases?”  
  
Laura rested her hand on her chin.  “Some.  But we’ll take it as it comes.  For the next year, I’ll be doing   
a great deal of case reviews and legwork from the office.”  
  
He eyed her with suspicion.  “What brought about this revelation?”  
  
“I can either fight nature tooth and nail--making both of us miserable--or I can concede gracefully and on   
my terms.”  She scratched her jaw and gave him a hesitant smile.  
  
“Sometimes, Laura, you do surprise the hell out of me.”  He leaned over to touch his lips to her temple.  
  
“Then I must still be doing something right.”  
  
  
  
Despite having her current address, the police couldn’t locate Penny Descoine that day.  With an uneasy   
feeling in his spine, Remington cased her home after midnight.  
  
Kaleb came along.  Laura didn’t.  
  


 

 


	26. Deception

_Thursday, 8 December 1988 -- 37 weeks, 0 days_  
  
“What do you mean you didn’t go in?”  Laura’s jaw dropped.  She’d never known Rei not to be   
perfectly at ease slipping inside any building.  
  
“Bad feeling, instinct--call it whatever you prefer.”  He gestured in frustration as he paced in their   
bedroom while he stripped off his black clothing.  “You said it yourself: she’s probably booby-trapped   
her whole bloody house.”  
  
Laura made herself think about what he wasn’t saying.  “If she’s been spying on us, she might know   
about our penchant for midnight surveillance,” she mused.  
  
He nodded.  “I think she’s waiting for us.”   
  
“She couldn’t have known we’d identified her last week.”  
  
“Descoine couldn’t have known we would escape from all of his traps, but he still had the poison waiting   
on the envelope in the end.  As far as she knows, we might have identified her via the case Sandra took   
on,” Remington reminded her.   
          
Laura paced the bedroom while her husband took a three-minute shower.   
  
When he returned wearing only his black silk dressing gown, she commented, “Tomorrow morning, I’ll   
find out how much contact she’s had with her dad.  The prison will have records; if I can’t see them,   
Detective Baylor can.  I’ll have Mildred do another search for any other properties she or the Major   
might own.”  
  
Remington nodded.  “Aye.  That’s a place to start anyway.”  He dropped his robe to the foot of the bed   
and tugged Laura down with him as he sat.  “Put the case away, love.”   
  
She wanted to argue but masterfully suppressed the urge.  She dropped her own robe on top of his and   
crawled under the covers as Remington slid in behind her.   
  
The baby, waking now that she’d stopped walking, began a gymnastics series that served to annoy her   
rather than fill her with delight.  As frustrated as she was by the lack of clues, even Remington’s arms   
couldn’t bring Laura comfort.          
  
  
  
She woke to the alarm in the same foul mood she’d had as she fell asleep.  The baby had awakened her   
periodically throughout the night.  Pressing the snooze button, she lay motionless for a moment before   
ponderously shoving against the bed to sit.  Remington had his head buried under a pillow, snoring lightly.   
  
Lumbering into the shower, Laura winced as the baby rolled around, alternately poking out feet and   
hands.  Afterward, she found Siobhán in the kitchen, cramming her books into her backpack as she   
readied for school.  
  
Siobhán  must have noticed her mom’s taciturn mood.  “You okay?”  
  
Laura nodded.  “Didn’t sleep well.  Baby was up most of the night.”  
  
The teen wrinkled her nose and gave her a quick hug.  “Not too much longer, anyway.”  
  
“I hope not,” Laura sighed.  “Are you ready?”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
Narrowing her eyes thoughtfully in the elevator, she gave her daughter a questioning look.  “What’s   
wrong, Shiv?”  
  
The girl wrinkled her nose.  “My recital.  I want to be ready.  I missed a lot of practice time while Da and   
I were gone.”  
  
“You’ll do beautifully.  What you played last night sounded very good.  You have tonight to run through   
it again.”  
  
“I do.”  With a nervous glance, she asked, “Will you sit with me while I practice?”  
  
“Of course.”  Laura caught Siobhán around the shoulders in a hug as they walked to the car.     
  
  
  
By the time she made it to the office, Laura's mood had deteriorated significantly.  She dropped her   
briefcase on her desk and yanked out the files.  For a solid hour, she scrutinized every photo, every note   
she had made, and any clue she might glean from the old Major Descoine cases.  
  
At nine, she called John Baylor.  “Detective?  Can you pull the visitor’s records for Percy Descoine? … I   
want to see if Penny’s been visiting her dad.”  Laura idly noted the arrival of most of the agency staff   
during the conversation.  Absurdly annoyed at Remington’s absence, she tapped her pen in irritation   
while she waited for the police detective to come back on the line.   
  
“Mrs. Steele, Penny’s been a regular since June.  Hmm.  I wonder why she didn’t visit him before that?”  
  
“I don’t know.  But I think we’ll pay the Major a visit soon.”   
  
“Mrs. Steele, please be careful.  I can’t tell you not to go, but I advise against it.”  
  
“I understand, Detective.”  Thinking rapidly, she asked, “Why don’t you go with me?  We’ll be able to   
get in and see Descoine within a day or two that way.”  
  
“What do you expect to get out of this, Mrs. Steele?”  
  
“If he cares for his daughter, he might be interested in seeing she doesn’t end up incarcerated as well.    
He’s had a few years to cool off.”  
  
“Didn’t seem to help last time.”  
  
“True, but at the moment, we don’t have many other leads.”  
  
“All right.  I’ll set up the arrangements and call you back.”  
  
Laura filled in Mildred on her conversation with the police detective and posed his question to her.  “Why  
has Penny suddenly started visiting since June, Mildred.  Why didn’t she visit him before that?”  
  
“I can answer that now,” Mildred replied.  “Penny Key's been under state supervision until she graduated   
from high school in 1986.  She was prohibited from seeing her father until she turned twenty-one.”   
  
“Supervision?  How old is she?”  
  
“She turned twenty-one in June.”  
  
“Good heavens.  That meant she was only sixteen when we saw her last.  She looked older.”  
  
“It’s an impressionable age,” Mildred commented.    
  
Laura drew her brows together.  “How did you get information out of CFSD?” she asked, referring to the   
Children and Family Services Division governing the foster care program in California.  
  
“I have a friend who owes me a favor or two.  She wouldn’t give me much, just that Miss Descoine   
participated in the program and the tidbit about her not being allowed to see the Major.  She wouldn’t   
give me the names of her guardians.”  
  
“They might have been a good source of information.  So, she’s on her own now.  Perhaps at loose ends   
and sees us as a handy target.”  She tapped her pencil again.  “Do you think she’s enrolled at any of the   
local colleges?  She might be living nearby or on campus.”  
  
“Now that I know how to look for her, I’ll know before the day is out.”   
  
With a handful of leads, Laura’s mood improved.  John called her back to say an appointment had been   
made for Friday at eleven.      
  
Rising from her desk, Laura waddled into Mildred’s office, sitting heavily in the visitor’s chair.  “May I   
ask a favor?”  
  
“Ask away.”  
  
“Detective Baylor has an appointment for us to see Descoine tomorrow at eleven.  We’ll have to leave   
Los Angeles around five-thirty in the morning to get to Lompac with morning traffic.  Would you take   
Siobhán to school?  I know Fred could take her, but I’m not comfortable with that just now.”  
  
“Spoken like a true parent.  Of course, I’ll take her.  I’ll pick her up too if you don’t get back in time.    
Doesn’t she have her piano recital tomorrow night?  I’m not missing that.”   
  
“Yes--at seven.  We need to be back tomorrow afternoon.  She’s already nervous.  I’m sure she won’t   
be hungry before the performance; do you want to join us for dinner afterward?”  
  
“I’d like that.  Did you know the Dragon Ladies are coming to see her play too?”   
  
Laura’s face lit up.  “Siobhán’s going to love that.  They can join us afterward if they’d like.”  
  
“Sounds like fun, Mrs. Steele.  Now--”  Mildred cocked her head, eyeing Laura as the younger woman   
hesitated to rise.  “What else is on your mind?”  
  
Changing positions to find a comfortable one, Laura idly scratched her cheek.  “Oh, just some ideas   
about staffing in the coming year.”  
  
Mildred’s eyebrows rose substantially.  “Shoot, boss.  Don’t keep me in suspense.”  
  
Laura gave her the outline of ideas about bringing on two new interns along with the Interpol trainee.  
  
“I like that, Mrs. Steele.”  
  
“What about you, Mildred?  You, Sandra and Ian seem to have things under control.”  
  
“We do at the moment, but we’re still gaining business.  I’m spending half my week crunching numbers   
and the other half testifying in court.  It’s all good, but I occasionally get a backlog of clients.  So far,   
nobody’s had a problem, but--”  She shrugged.  
  
“Then perhaps we should see about bringing in another CPA as well to assist you.”  
  
“Careful, Mrs. Steele, you’ll inflate my ego.  Any bigger and it might rival Mr. Steele’s.”  Mildred’s face   
reddened in delight.  
  
Laura rested her arm on the chair and put her cheek on her knuckles.  “You won’t be thanking me when   
we have to expand this office again.  We have only one more empty room.  I don’t know how to   
shoehorn four more people in here.”  
  
In answer, Mildred buzzed Ian, Sandra and Kaleb.  “We have a suggestion for you,” she told Laura.    
Sandra wore her usual hot pink and sat gracefully on Mildred’s other extra chair while the two men   
crowded the doorway.  “We’re talking expansion ideas, kids.”  She gave a quick rundown of Laura’s   
thoughts, then added, “Sandra, tell Mrs. Steele your thoughts.”  
  
Laura leaned back, eager to hear what her employee had to say. “I didn’t realize you had been discussing   
it.”  
  
Sandra crossed her legs, draping her arms on top.  “It’s inevitable with all the business we’re getting these  
days.  The way I see it, a good detective is only in the office when business is slow or for a couple of   
hours during the day.  Frankly, our offices are big enough to double up.  Either Kaleb and I can share or   
we can each take one of the newbies.  I think it’s best if we split them up.  We can stick the Interpol kid   
in the reception area with Ian.”   
  
“Which leaves the CPA with his or her own office since he or she will be here most of the time,” Laura   
mused.  “What if you have to meet with a client?”  
  
Sandra turned up a hand.  “Mrs. Steele, you or Mildred generally meet with the clients.  Kaleb and I   
usually use the seating area in Mr. Steele’s office if we don’t go to the client’s home or business.  Like   
the rest of us, he’s not here most of the time anyway, and it gives us more legitimacy to be in his office   
since his name is on the door.”  
  
Laura chuckled at that.  “True.  I’ve done that since the agency opened.”  Tickled by the turn of events,   
she commented, “If necessary, Mr. Steele can work out of my office.  For the foreseeable future, I   
imagine one of us will be occupied at any given time.”  Mildred chuckled as her employer continued, “If   
all of you don’t mind sharing, I think we have a working plan.  We’ll keep things as they are until I get   
back from leave; then we’ll work on hiring interns.”  
  
Shifting her attention to Kaleb, she said with pride, “As of now, I want you to work as if you have a full-  
fledged license.  Feel free to pursue leads on your own without Sandra or one of us.  I’ll be asking a great   
many questions on a daily basis, but you’ve more than proven yourself.  Just don’t forget I still have to   
sign off on everything you do, and I don’t sign anything I don’t understand.”   
  
The young man flashed a triumphant smile.  “Yes, ma’am.”  
  
“Good Lord,” Remington said from behind the two men.  “One would think it’s time for tea around   
here.”  Ian and Kaleb eased into Mildred’s office so he could poke his head in.   
  
Laura glanced at her watch.  “Lunchtime, anyway.  Since we’ve determined the direction of the agency   
in your absence, Mr. Steele, why don’t we take the staff to lunch since they’ll be covering for us in a few   
weeks?”   
  
“Ah, who’s paying the check on this one, Mrs. Steele?”  
  
“You are, Mr. Steele.”  
  
“Ah, excellent then.  We’ll take everyone for tacos at the vendor downstairs.”   
  
  
  
By the time the agency reopened after lunch, Laura’s energy had flagged visibly, and she disappeared   
into her office with a weary sigh.  After sorting through messages while bringing Ian up to date on the   
status of the museum case, Remington found her lying on her divan with the office lights off, eyes closed   
and her shoes carelessly dropped onto the floor.   
  
He leaned against the doorframe leading to his own office with his hands in his pockets as he watched her  
sleep.  Thinking the feeling should have passed by now, Remington still experienced a little sizzle every   
time he thought of Laura as “his wife.”  Now, even his casual acquaintances found it necessary to   
comment on his ridiculous grin every time the subject of her pregnancy came up.  
  
They had certainly come a long way.  Only a year ago, he couldn’t imagine Laura stopping her work long   
enough to take care of herself.  Finding ways to make her relax provided a constant source of amusement   
for him.   
  
His smile fell away.  They’d had precious few moments this year to play.  With all that had occurred in   
April and Siobhán’s subsequent arrival, Remington found himself dealing with emotions, responsibilities   
and family connections in a way he’d never anticipated.   
  
Despite Laura’s independent spirit, he’d discovered how much she needed him.  Dozens of times in the   
past few months, she’d faltered as she dealt with pregnancy, trauma and now their stalker.  But she’d   
reached out to him in subtle ways, leaning on him so lightly that if he hadn’t been utterly attuned to every   
nuance of her personality, he would have missed it.   
  
He'd been shocked to discover, after all these years, that Laura didn't merely enjoy his company but   
depended on it when push came to shove.  The revelation shouldn’t have been one--after all, that   
reliance formed the foundation of a good partnership.  Professionally, he hadn't questioned it.  But, given   
his precious little experience with relationships, Remington hadn’t known it could translate to their   
personal lives.   
  
The discovery sat uncomfortably on his shoulders.  The price of failure wasn’t merely a lost gem or   
unsolved case.  No, it was much, much higher.  
  
“Mr. Steele?” Ian called from his open door.  He slipped out of Laura’s office, closing her door quietly   
behind him.   
  
“Aye, what is it?”  
  
The secretary looked abashed as he held up a large envelope.  “Mail just came.  We got another one.”

 

 

 


	27. Command Performance

_Friday, 9 December 1988 -- 37 weeks, 1 day  
  
_ Detective Baylor arrived at the Steele’s penthouse at five-thirty sharp.  During the long drive, Laura   
made notes in the stack of files she had brought: questions to ask, leads to pursue, and people to contact.  
  
Remington and John discussed the Rams last game--or rather, John analyzed it as he navigated traffic   
while Remington made agreeable noises from the back seat.  
  
She bit her lip to hide a smile while she wrote.  She had made an agreement with her husband sometime   
ago.  He still didn’t quite get all the nuances of the game, and she mercilessly teased him about it during   
football season.  But only the family knew, courtesy of Murphy’s helpful observations about Remington's   
lack of understanding, and she kept her promise to give him key highlights each week so that he could   
hold his head up whenever the men around him shot the breeze about the latest game.  With two facts   
and a player’s name, he could create the impression of a play-by-play commentator.  
  
The baby began rolling about, distracting Laura from her papers.  Grimacing, she set her file to the side   
and placed counter-pressure where a foot pressed under her rib.  
  
Seeing the motion, John glanced over to where she sat in the passenger seat.  “I don’t know how women   
do it.  That doesn’t look like fun.”  
  
Blowing out her breath, she responded, “It’s been interesting until about a week ago.  Now, I’m just   
ready for this kid to get here.”  
        
“My wife said the same thing with both kids.  She had great pregnancies, but by the time we hit eight   
months, she would have paid nearly anyone to do a C-section.  Fortunately, her doctor had a little more   
sense.”  
  
“I think it’s a requirement to be an obstetrician.”  The baby retracted the foot and tucked it under her   
sternum with the other one.  That was better.  No pain, but she couldn’t breathe.  Giving up, she closed   
her eyes and concentrated on inhaling and exhaling.  Casually, without a word, Remington stretched out   
in the backseat, draping one arm along the door frame so that he could reach behind her and stroke the   
ends of her hair.  
  
Comforted by his touch, the early morning caught up with her.  She closed her eyes, listening to   
Remington’s voice as he made idle conversation.  
  
  
At Lompoc Federal Prison, a guard escorted the three detectives to a pair of rooms with a large table in   
the middle of the one on the right.  Laura and Remington stood behind the glass in the second room to   
watch the interview.  
  
Laura hoped the Major would respond better to the police detective than he might to her and Remington.    
After all, the Steeles had been his adversary for more than seven years.  
  
Major Descoine, looking pale and thin from his years of incarceration, hadn’t lost any of his contentious   
nature in that time.  His escort took a firm stance at the door while the man sat across from the detective.  
  
John took the file Laura had assembled and placed it on the table.  “Mr. Descoine,” he started.  
  
“Major.”  
  
Detective Baylor looked up, expressionless.  “Major Descoine, I’m here to request your assistance.”  
  
“You want my help?  With what?”  
  
“With your daughter, Penny, Major.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“We’ve got evidence she’s been stalking a family in Los Angeles.  Restraining orders have been filed, but  
we’ve been unable to locate her.  We’re concerned about her, Major.  So far there’s no indication of a   
physical threat, but she continues to send pictures to the family, some as recently as yesterday.”  
  
Descoine only laughed.  “There’s only one family she’d have any interest in: the Steeles.  I hope she   
scares the hell out of them.”  
  
“Major, we don’t want anything to happen to your daughter.”  
  
“Oh, you won’t catch her,” the former soldier said with assurance.  
  
The detective slid a pair of photographs across the table.  “We’ve identified her, Major.  It’s only a   
matter of time before we have her in custody.”  
  
“Then why did you bother coming to see me?”  
  
“Because as of this moment, she’s only taking pictures.  We need to talk with her and find out her   
reasons.  If she’s not a threat and agrees to stop, she goes free.  If she is a threat, we have an opportunity   
to get her some help--if she wants it.  But if we wait around until she hurts or kills someone. …  Do you   
want her to have your life?  Here in prison?”  
  
The Major only laughed eerily.  “You won’t find her.  She’s made sure of that.  I’m finished talking to   
you.  Guard, take me back to my room,” he ordered.  
  
The guard escorted him from the room.  Without a word, Laura and Remington walked into the hallway   
in time to see Major Descoine look around.  
  
In surprise, he took in Remington’s hand on Laura’s shoulder and her obvious pregnancy.  Then he   
laughed, long and hard, before he turned away.  
  
Remington stepped back into the room, out of view, and drove his fist into the wall.  
  
  
  
On the way home, Laura quietly asked John, “Do you have enough for a search warrant?”  
  
“Depends on how well I can convince a judge.  It’s slim, but we’ll try.”  
  
“If you go, be aware that the house is probably booby-trapped.”  
  
John gave Laura an annoyed look.  “I don’t even want to know how you know that.”  
  
“It’s best that you don’t,” she replied innocently.  
  
  
  
After a quick return trip, John dropped both of them at the penthouse in plenty of time for Remington to   
retrieve Siobhán from school.  
  
Laura spent the next hour in their home office.  Calling Mildred topped her to-do list.  Dealing with the   
stack of boxes the shipping company had left with the doorman came second.  
  
Mildred’s cheerful voice calmed her.  “How did the meet go?”  
  
“Not good, Mildred.  What have you found out so far?”  
  
“I’ve worked through all the major area colleges and the community colleges.  Bupkis.  Now I’m   
working on the private ones.  They’re a little harder, but Ian’s got a few tricks up his sleeve on that side.”  
  
“We’ll make a detective out of him yet.”  Laura tried to keep her tone light.  
  
“I’ve been working on that for two and a half years, Mrs. Steele.”  
  
“Keep trying.  I’ll see you tonight, right?”  
  
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, kiddo.”  
  
The doorman brought up eight good-sized boxes.  Laura directed him to put them in the guest bedroom   
across from the nursery.  
  
Laura did her best to ignore them while she cleaned up her office.  She heard Remington and Siobhán   
come home.  She saw Siobhán head straight for the piano to practice again before the recital.  Remington   
hesitated in the doorway, staring blankly at his daughter, when Laura touched his arm.  
  
“What is it?” she asked.  
  
Dropping a mask over his face, he shook his head and said quietly, “Sorry.  Ah, I’m for the gym.”  
  
She drew her brows together.  “Don’t forget Siobhán’s concert.  We need to leave at six.”  
  
He nodded.  “I’ll be there.”  
  
Only after he left did she realize she hadn’t told him about the boxes from Ireland.  
  
  
  
At six, Fred brought the limo around.  Laura herded a nervous Siobhán into the car.  She took special   
care to conceal her annoyance at Remington’s absence and had to assure Siobhán several times that her   
Da would be in attendance.  If he missed the recital, Detective Jarvis would have to arrest her when they   
found Remington’s lifeless body washing up on the morning tide of the Pacific coast.  
  
Mildred and the Dragon Ladies arrived at ten minutes before seven with raised brows at the empty chair   
next to Laura.  She gave her associate a polite smile that didn’t conceal her annoyance in the slightest.  
  
But as the curtains opened, Remington slid into the empty seat holding a bouquet of pale pink roses.   
“Sorry, love.  Took me a bit longer at the florist’s than I anticipated.  Have I missed anything?” he   
whispered as he unbuttoned his tailored coat and kissed her cheek.  
  
Laura softened as she saw the flowers.  He’d found a half dozen perfectly formed buds in the palest of   
pinks, perfect for a young girl after her first performance--trust Remington not to forget the details.  
  
She wove her fingers with his, absently stroking his knuckles with her thumb until she felt a slight jerk   
under her hand.  Looking carefully, she saw a patch of red where he’d pounded the skin raw.  He caught   
her look and kissed the back of her hand.  “It’s all right, Laura.”  He grinned at her and said in a soft   
voice in her ear, “Score’s still three-zip as far as I’m concerned.  We’ll catch her.”  
  
His unmistakable confidence settled her.  Taking one more long look at his profile, she turned to pay   
attention to the student currently performing.  
  
The two-hour recital had most of the men in the audience shifting uncomfortably and fidgeting with their   
jackets and collars--except for Remington.  Either Daniel’s tutelage or Rei’s own love of any kind of   
performance meant that he sat in polite attention for the whole of the show.  
  
When Siobhán approached the piano on stage, his hand tensed over Laura’s.  It stayed that way   
throughout their daughter’s beautiful solo.  Siobhán’s love of music was evident in both the classical   
_Paganini Rhapsody_ and the original jazz piece flavored with a strong hint of New Orleans that she’d   
composed.  By the time she’d finished, there wasn’t a dry eye in at least one row of chairs in the school   
auditorium.  
  
Laura stole Rei’s handkerchief from his hand to catch the tears of pride spilling from her lashes.  
  
After the recital, the performers poured off the stage where they'd taken their bows.  Siobhán scanned   
the crowded room for them.  Remington waved to her.  
  
“Mom!  I did it!”  Siobhán bounced in her heels as she found them.  
  
Laura caught Siobhán’s face in her hands and kissed her in joy.  “Lovely, Siobhán.  Absolutely lovely.”  
  
When the ecstatic girl turned, she exclaimed, “Da!  You made it!”  
  
Remington brought out the flowers he'd held behind his back.  He kissed her on both cheeks in classic   
European style saying, “I wouldn’t have missed seeing you play, Siobhán Steele.”  
  
“Flowers?  For me?”  The girl melted and wrapped her arms around his neck.  “Da!”  
  
Laura saw his blue eyes glisten.  While Siobhan danced away to show off her roses to Mildred and the   
Dragon Ladies, Remington reached for her arm and tucked it in his, reverting to formalities as he   
gathered his composure once again.  
  
All throughout dinner, Siobhán fingered her roses, sniffing them and toying with the stems.  
  
  
  
Laura woke the next morning to the sound of an argument in full sail across the living room.  She sat up,   
wincing as all the aches and pains in her lower back made themselves known.  Regretting the heels she   
wore last night, she straightened and focused on the verbal potshots Remington and Siobhán were  
taking at each other.  Shrugging on her robe, she crossed the front and tied a knot in the sash.  
  
Neither of them noticed her as she eased the bedroom door open.  
  
“You can’t keep me inside this house forever, Da!”  
  
“Siobhán, I rather doubt anyone can accuse me of keeping you in this house.”  
  
“Oh, sure.  You’ll take me anywhere I want--the office, school, dinner, the movies--as long as you go   
along.  But with my girlfriends?  It’s not like I’m asking to go to a party or, or … a club!  All I want to do   
is go to a movie with Jennifer and Caitlyn tonight.”  
  
Remington paced at one end of the living room, hand on his reddened forehead.  “Not now, Siobhán.      
It’s not safe right now.”  
  
“Not safe?  Not safe?  Now you sound like Johnny!” Siobhán snapped.  
  
Laura interrupted, her voice calm as she stepped into the arena.  “Is there any reason we can’t drive the   
girls, Rei?”  
         
But Siobhán interjected, “Caitlyn’s mom said she would pick me up.”  
       
Remington immediately grimaced and opened his mouth to speak. Laura shot him a quelling look across   
the room.  He subsided, stalking into the kitchen.  
        
“Siobhán, I agree with Remington.”  Laura saw him glance back at her in gratitude.  “We don’t know   
who is taking pictures.  We’re trained to deal with scary people; Caitlyn’s mom isn’t.”  Shocked, the teen   
crossed her arms in anger and began to retort when Laura held up her hand and continued, “However--”  
  
Laura raised her eyebrows at Remington.  “We can meet your friends at the theater.  We’ll sit behind   
you--far enough that we can’t hear whatever you girls are giggling over, but close enough that we can see   
if anyone threatens you.  Rei, we don't have any plans for the evening, do we?”  
  
Conceding, he said with an edge in his voice, “No, I think not.”  
         
Siobhán sulked, muttering in Gaelic under her breath.  
  
Laura missed the meaning, but Remington didn’t.  “That’s enough, Siobhán,” he snapped.  “I’ll not have   
that kind of impertinence in our home.  Laura’s suggestion is more than fair.  If you don’t like it, we can   
certainly stay home this evening instead.”  
  
Taken aback by his tone, Siobhán subsided, but not without an angry glint in her eye and a mutinous   
pout as she stalked into the kitchen and yanked open the refrigerator door.  
  
Remington touched his fingertips to his forehead.  Laura caught the hurt in his blue eyes before he   
escaped onto the terrace.  
  
Laura joined Siobhán in the kitchen, pouring water from the tea pot someone had heated.  She stayed   
silent, waiting for her daughter to speak.  Only when Siobhán turned and realized that Remington was   
standing on the terrace did the glower slide away, replaced by regret.  
  
“I didn’t mean to hurt him.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
Siobhán dropped her gaze to the countertop, then heaved a sigh before squaring her shoulders to go   
outside.  Laura watched as the pair leaned on the terrace rail.  For several minutes, they stayed that way.  
  
The dull throb came back to distract Laura.  She set down her teacup, hoping a hot shower would ease   
the soreness.  
  
  
  
Remington found her there but knew better than to surprise her.  Early in their marriage, he’d slipped into   
the shower once while she washed her hair with the intention of taking advantage of her lithe, naked   
form.  He’d received a half-full shampoo bottle to the nose before Laura had broken up in horrified   
laughter at her automatic defensive instinct.  
  
She’d soothed away his indignity in a most enchanting way, but the overall experience was one he’d   
rather not repeat.  He leaned against the doorway, admiring her gravid state.  
  
When she stepped out, with one towel knotted just above her bust and another wrapped around her hair,   
she grimaced before noticing him.  
  
“Something wrong?”  
  
Concealing her expression, she shook her head.  “Oh--uh, my back is sore.  It’s better after my shower.”  
  
He started to admonish her about needing to rest but checked himself.  He’d already had one volatile   
“discussion” with one of the ladies in his life; no need to start another one.  
  
The right side of Laura’s mouth curved up.  “No comment about resting?”  
  
“Ah, no, actually.  I imagine you’re perfectly capable of making your own decisions regarding your health   
and that of our child.”  
  
She grinned.  “Nicely put.  I’ll tell you what.  If you and Siobhán get the Christmas tree from the storage   
closet, I’ll put my feet up as long as you two are decorating it.”  
  
“That’s bribery,” he accused.  
  
“Absolutely.”  Her pale face only accentuated the sparkle in her eyes.  
  
Remington slid the towel from her head and, diving hands into her wet hair, warmed his lips on hers in a   
deep, intoxicating kiss.  “In that case, it’s very effective.  But first, I’ll bake the sugar cookies that are   
chilling in the refrigerator.”  
  
Her face lit up in delight.  “Can I help?”  
  
“Yes, but first tell me when the shipment arrived from Ireland.”  He stroked her cheek before handing   
her the towel he’d dropped on the floor.  
  
She admonished with a finger to his lips, “Yesterday afternoon while you picked up Siobhán from   
school.”  
  
“Ah, that’s how I missed it.”  
  
“Do you want to go through the boxes?”  Laura rubbed her hair and gave him a sideways glance.  
  
“Siobhán’s already unpacked a great deal of them as most of them belong to her.”  
  
“What about the others?”  
  
“We’ll look at them later.”  
  
  
  
That afternoon, while the scent of freshly baked cookies filled the flat and a tray of the same sat on the   
coffee table where they could be easily snitched, Laura untangled the lights from her spot on the couch   
while Remington and Siobhán sorted through ornaments.      
  
The teen’s sad expression didn’t go unnoticed by either Laura or Remington.  
  
“What’s wrong, a stór?” he asked.  
  
“Oh, I, uh, didn’t think to go through the Christmas ornaments at Johnny’s house.  I wish I had.”  
         
Remington flashed a smile.  “Hold that thought, Siobhán.”  He retrieved one of the three remaining boxes  
and brought it into the living room, setting it at Laura’s feet.  “I called DeeDee before we left.  I’d had   
the thought that she would know better than either of us what should be kept in the family.  Your   
solicitor took her through the house.”  
  
Siobhan held her breath in anticipation as he wiggled his eyebrows at her.  He smiled as he spoke,    
“There are a couple of pieces of furniture and a few larger things that she insisted we keep--those will be   
shipped later.  But knowing the holidays are coming, she sent on a number of smaller items, including   
Christmas ornaments the two of you made over the years and some handed down through the family.    
Have a look.”  He indicated she should open the box.  
  
  
For the rest of the afternoon, the Steeles decorated the tree, happily arguing over stringing the lights,   
where to hang the ornaments and how to drape tinsel.  Laura told any number of silly stories about her   
sisters and the truly awful decorations they’d created.  Remington proudly showed Siobhán the ones he   
and Laura had purchased together in the last two years, and Siobhán shared what she knew of the   
decorations DeeDee had sent.  
  
In that afternoon, the little family created a whole host of new happy memories.  
  
That evening, Laura and Remington took Siobhán to see Scrooged (Bill Murray, Paramount Pictures,   
1988).  They sat the promised ten rows back and on the other side of the aisle so they had a good view   
of the girls.  The show proved entertaining enough that Laura had to remind herself to keep an eye on   
Siobhán.  But the show came off without incident.  
  
The trip to the restroom afterward, however, set off a dramatic chain of events no one had anticipated.

 

 


	28. Dissonance

_Saturday, 10 December 1988 -- 37 weeks, 2 days_  
  
Laura discretely followed the three girls to the restroom.  Raised voices brought her out of the stall as she   
recognized Siobhán’s unmistakable Irish accent in the altercation.  
  
“You don’t even know who I am!”  
  
“But I do.  You’re Remington Steele’s daughter.  I think I have a score to even with your dad.  He put   
mine away; maybe I’ll put yours away.”  Laura hadn’t heard the sing-song voice of Penny Descoine in   
years.  Penny’s head tilted in a childish fashion as she leaned close.  “Daddy and I have been waiting so   
long for this.  It’s all fun now.”  
  
Siobhán instinctively looked around for Laura.  Caitlyn and Jennifer flanked either side of her in support,   
and Laura came up behind Penny to lay a hand on her shoulder.  
  
“Making threats to my daughter, Miss Descoine?”  
  
Penny turned around, her eyes wide with delight.  With an excellent presence of mind, Caitlyn whispered   
in Siobhán’s ear and bolted from the restroom--presumably to find Remington.  “Oh, so you figured it   
out!  Daddy will be so happy!”  She clapped her hands together.  “He likes it when you find his clues.    
But he wasn’t happy to go to prison.  No, not at all.  He’s angry with you, Miss Holt.  But I’m going to   
help him.”  
  
Remington shoved open the restroom door.  Penny took one look at him, giggled, and then gave Laura a   
hard shove that had her stumbling backward.  Both Siobhán and Jennifer reached to keep her from falling   
just as Remington lunged to do the same.  In the confusion, Penny stole out the door with all the deftness   
of a street thief.  
  
Laura didn’t fall.  Instead, she glared at Remington.  “Go after her!”  She waved her hand toward the   
door.  He narrowed his eyes in irritation even as he followed her order.  
  
To Jennifer and Siobhán, she asked, “Are you two okay?”  
  
“Yeah, Mom, but are you?”  
  
“I’m fine,” Laura assured her with a hug, although she didn’t tell the girls how the baby had drawn up   
close and high in her body as the adrenaline coursed through her.  It was a distinctly odd sensation.  She   
unconsciously rubbed the top of her belly as if to soothe the child.  
  
They met Caitlyn at the door of the restroom and walked out together.  While the girls chattered in a tight   
knot behind her, Laura found Remington outside the theater stalking about in silence.  She crossed her   
arms to rub them as she approached him.  
  
“Rei?”  
  
He turned and immediately took her into his arms.  “Laura.”  
  
“I’m all right.  She didn’t hurt me or the baby.”  
  
“The bloody twit is quick.  Reminds me of someone I used to know,” he said morosely.  
  
Laura heaved a sigh.  “We told Jennifer's and Caitlyn’s parents we would take them home.  Let’s do   
that, and then we’ll call Detective Baylor and give him an update.”  
  
Remington reached for a toothpick and chewed on it, nodding his agreement.  
  
  
  
By the time the Steeles explained the incident to both sets of parents and returned home with Siobhán,   
Laura was exhausted.  She thought she’d done an admirable job of hiding her weariness, but Remington   
saw straight through her.  
  
“No excuses, love.  Go get into bed.  I’ll talk to John.”  
  
She started to retort, but the ache in her back and tension from where the baby had drawn up got through   
to her.  She nodded instead.  “I’ll be in the bathtub.  Let me know what he says.”  
  
The water was cooling when Remington came in to help her from the whirlpool.  
  
“How’s Siobhán?”  
  
“Watching a movie in the living room.  She doesn’t want to be alone just yet.  I’ve been sitting with her.”  
  
Laura nodded.  “I should be there too.”  
  
“No, you need to rest,” he admonished lightly.  
  
“I’ll rest on the sofa.”  
  
Slowly, he nodded.  “All right, love.”  He kissed her on the temple and drew her to him, holding her close  
and feeling the baby kick against his stomach.  
  
  
  
Detective Baylor received permission from a judge to conduct a search of Penny’s house on the basis of   
the confrontation and threats she’d made the night before.  In an effort to keep the private investigator   
from making his own search, the police officer invited Mr. Steele along.  
  
After ascertaining no one was home, the two men picked through the myriad of traps she’d set.  Some   
bordered on sheer brilliance, others on madness.  
  
All the evidence pointed to the belief she might have been living in a small corner of the house for a brief   
period of time.  A short hallway connected her bedroom to the kitchen with a bath off to one side.  
  
“She must have been using the window to come in,” John indicated.  
  
“Aye.  Doesn’t seem as if she’s been here much.  Some of the food in the kitchen is spoiled.”  
  
“But she’s been living here.  We’ll keep the house under surveillance.”  
  
“Won’t do any good.  Carter’s been keeping the place under surveillance since Thursday.  She hasn’t   
shown.”  
  
“Your man?”  
  
Remington indicated with a thumb out the window.  “White Rabbit over there.”  
  
“Ah, nice undercover car.  Didn’t rate a second glance.”  
  
“It’s quite a bit more discreet than your standard large, dark American car with tinted windows.”    
Remington peered at the photos on the dresser.  Copies of the photos she’d sent to him dotted the   
surface.  “She’s certainly fixated on us.”  
  
John crossed over to look, then walked to the window.  He called out to one of his men, “Bag it all up   
for evidence.”  
  
  
  
Siobhán and Laura finished unpacking the boxes in the meantime.  The things that belonged to   
Remington were added to the nursery.  The teddy bear went up on the shelf above the dresser where   
Siobhán declared he could watch over the baby.  
  
  
  
A frustrated Remington came home to find Siobhán studying for a physics test and Laura doing casework.  
  
“Laura,” he warned as he went into her office.  
  
“Don’t,” she warned, holding a hand up.  “I’m not in the mood to be berated for working.  I’m no   
different from you; I need something to keep my mind occupied until we stop Penny.”  
  
He left her alone, keeping busy in the kitchen while she worked out her own anxieties.  
  
  
  
That night, Laura seemed to nestle closer than usual to him in bed.  Grateful, he draped an arm across   
her waist and buried his face in her hair.  
  
Sometime around two, he woke to the oddest sensation.  Laura’s belly hardened then softened   
rhythmically.  After nearly half an hour of timing the contractions with his fingertips and his own innate   
sense of time, he slipped from the bedroom to call Dr. Berger.  
  
“She’s sleeping through the contractions, Mr. Steele?”  
  
“Ah, yes.”  
  
“Then they aren’t anything to worry over, yet.  It’s called false labor, although ‘pre-labor’ is probably a   
better term.  She still has a couple of weeks to go, and it’s all quite normal.  You’re coming in tomorrow,   
correct?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“We’ll see how she’s doing then.  In the meantime, go back to sleep, Mr. Steele.  Mom and baby are just   
fine.”  
  
Reassured, he crawled back into bed.  In his dreams, he sat near her with a stopwatch and a notepad,   
marking each spasm as it occurred.  
  
  
  
Monday morning, Remington pulled out of the hospital parking lot after Laura’s appointment, turning the   
wheel of the Auburn to head for home rather than the office.  
         
“Mr. Steele.  Did you forget where we work?”  
  
He didn’t miss Laura’s saccharine tone and replied in kind, “Did you forget what Dr. Berger told you not   
twenty minutes ago, Mrs. Steele?”  
  
“Yes, but you know damned well that it’s easier for me to distract myself with work than to sit at home   
and fret,” Laura countered acerbically.  
  
Remington held his tongue.  Dr. Berger had clucked disapprovingly over Laura’s blood pressure.  The   
obstetrician made the situation clear to both of them--Laura needed rest.  Feet up, eyes closed kind of   
rest--not working and not sitting for long stretches.  
  
Gearing up for the inevitable fight, Remington tightened his jaw in anticipation.  He didn’t blame her in   
the least for not wanting to stay home.  The times he’d been confined by a broken leg or two had been   
monotonous after the second movie on the first day.  Only having Laura to distract him had been the   
saving grace in either situation.  
  
But he couldn’t stay with her today.  Dr. Berger had warned him that if he hadn’t begun wrapping   
matters up at the office, he’d better get busy.  
  
He’d hardly moved the gear shift into park when Laura heaved out of the seat, slamming the car door   
behind her.  
  
“Easy there, love.  The car’s still an antique.”  
         
She whirled around, ponytail swinging.  “I don’t care about the damned car.  I care about being parked at   
home like an invalid.”  She pivoted, stabbing the elevator button.  
  
He kept his lips firmly shut while they rode in icy silence to their level.  
  
Once inside, she dropped her purse on the foyer table and marched to the sofa to sit.  “Happy now?”  
  
Irritated by her stubbornness, he said, “Laura, it’s for a bloody week while the tyke bakes a few more   
days.  Is that too much to ask?”  
  
“How is this supposed to be less stressful--knowing you’re doing my job?”  
        
“Your job?  Laura--your job right now is to take care of yourself and our child.  As of a half hour ago,   
you don’t have another job,” he shot back angrily.  He couldn’t have aimed a bullet more carefully.    
With instant regret, he watched it slice through her heart.  
  
Her back stiffened, her chin came up, and with ice in her words, she stood, saying, “As you wish, Mr.   
Steele.”  She turned and walked to their bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind her.  
  
Remington followed, laying a hand on the door before withdrawing it.  
  
  
  
He couldn’t have known that she leaned against the other side, head tilted up as she tried not to let the   
tears spill over.  When she heard the click of the foyer door as it closed, she sank down to the floor, her   
breath heaving in sobs.  
  
In all of Laura’s dreams for herself, not one had involved staying home while her husband ran the agency.  
  
  
  
For two excruciatingly long days, Remington worked.  He took Dr. Berger seriously and bore the   
responsibility of shuttling Siobhán to and from school and her activities, settling the last of his security   
installations before the holidays, reviewing Kaleb’s casework and spot-checking Sandra’s.  In the   
meantime, Mildred combed through clues, looking for any trace of Penny Descoine’s whereabouts.  
  
In the evenings, with Siobhán’s assistance, he took care of dinner, finished emptying the boxes from   
Ireland, made a mad dash to the grocery store and to the dry cleaner and another to purchase the last   
minute baby items Laura had listed out for him.  
  
It was more responsibility than he’d borne in all his thirty-six years.  
  
Without Laura’s input on a daily basis into the workings of the agency, he felt the weight of each decision  
he made as if he were Atlas himself, balancing the world on his shoulders.  
  
He’d complimented her any number of times about her ability both as a brilliant detective and as a deft   
manager of the business.  For certain, he’d admired any number of times the way she encouraged a staff   
member to follow a hunch or gently led him or her down the proper road.  
  
Stupidly, he’d compared himself to her and believed himself to be her equal in such matters.  Oh, he had   
the words, but her sure hands and unwavering confidence had been a steadying influence upon him.    
Without them, the cold draft of uncertainty chilled his self-assurance.  He despised second guessing his   
own thinking.  
  
In the meantime, Laura’s misery ate holes in him.  She hadn’t mentioned the agency at all, nor asked   
after any of their pending cases.  In the evenings, she stirred from the bed only long enough to eat dinner,   
play the piano for a half hour or so, and soak in the bath.  
  
He planned to stay home Wednesday morning to keep her company--but as matters developed, both of   
them would be needed in the agency that day.

 

 

 


	29. Reckoning

_Wednesday, December 14, 1988 -- 37 weeks, 6 days_  
  
Remington shed the sweater and jeans he’d thrown on to take Siobhán to school and dove back under   
the covers.  Laura hardly stirred.  She’d refused to admit any such thing, but the rest had been good for   
her.  Some of the stress lines had cleared from her face, and her appetite had returned.    
  
With Dr. Berger’s blessing, he planned to take her to lunch and then to the agency for precisely two   
hours.  He needed her input on several matters, and having to pick up Siobhán from school provided a   
convenient time limitation he knew Laura would honor.  
  
Unconsciously, she shifted so they touched from shoulder to knee, his front to her back.  She tucked her   
feet between his calves and covered his hand where it rested on her belly with her own.  
  
Thirty-six minutes into his deeply contented sleep, the phone rang.  Mildred apologized profusely, but he   
waved her off, eager to get her off the line.  
  
“Boss, there’s a lady here I think both of you need to see.”  
  
“See?  As in dress professionally and arrive at the office in under twenty minutes?”  
  
“It’s Penny’s mother.”  
  
“Penny who?”  He rubbed his face to clear the cobwebs.  
  
“Miss Descoine?  Your stalker?  Her mother is here and wants to visit with both of you.”  
  
“Penny has a mother?”  
  
“Last time I checked, we all have one, Chief.”  
  
“Ah, stall her.  Make tea.  We’ll be there.”  
  
Laura had opened her eyes at the name.  “Is everything all right?”  
  
He took her hand and pulled her upright and out of bed.  “We need to be at the agency.  Apparently,   
Penny’s mother is there and wants to have a chat with us.”  
  
Dumbfounded, Laura only stared at him.  
  
“Be dazzled by your reprieve later, love, for now you’re needed at the office.”  
  
He didn’t have to tell her twice.  In twelve minutes flat, she was impatiently tapping her foot for him to   
fasten his cufflinks.  The tie would have to wait for a stoplight along the way.  
  
  
  
Mildred sat on the sofa in his office with an older woman who bore traces of beauty some years before.    
Signs of a hard life had taken their toll, and Remington inexplicably found himself regretting whatever   
burden she carried.  
  
Smiling up at the couple as they entered, Mildred introduced the woman to the detectives.  
  
“Mr. Steele, Mrs. Steele--I’d like you to meet Margaret Townsend.”  
  
“Mrs. Townsend, I understand you’re Penny’s mother,” he said politely as he shook her hand and then   
released it to assist Laura into her chair.      
  
The woman pushed back thinning brown hair and sighed.  “Yes.  I’d come to warn you about Penny’s   
obsession with you two, but Ms. Krebs has been explaining the situation to me.  I’m sorry you haven’t   
been able to locate Penny.  She goes by Penny Townsend.  She still lives with me--or at least, that’s   
where she’s supposed to live.”  
  
Laura tilted her head.  “Do you have any idea where she might be?”  
  
“Her father’s house.”  
  
Remington shook his head.  “We’ve had it under surveillance, and I checked it personally--it was quite   
empty.”  
  
Margaret gave him a weary look.  “Did you check the attic?”  
  
He raised his eyebrows.  “Ah, no, actually.”  
  
“My ex-husband completely refitted it so that he could live up there and no one would know.  Whenever   
Penny wants to hide, that’s where she goes.”  
  
Laura carefully asked, “What is going on here, Mrs. Townsend?  Beyond the photos and a single   
confrontation with Penny, we have very little information.”  
  
Margaret nodded.  “You know her dad.  He’s a crook with a flair for drama.  He had me dazzled until he   
started getting into trouble with his bosses.  I divorced him after he began having an affair with that Lily   
from the bank.  Unfortunately, he went to prison when Penny was only eleven.  She thought the world   
of him and didn’t realize what he did was terribly wrong.  She was sixteen when he set his sights on you,   
and she wanted desperately to impress him.  So she did whatever he asked.”  Margaret shook her head   
sadly.  “If that wasn’t proof of his insanity--asking a teenager to kill.”  
  
She clasped her hands in her lap. “I thought I’d gotten through to her.  We’ve been in therapy for years,   
and I won a court order prohibiting her from having any contact with her father until she turned twenty-  
one.”  Wistfully, she added, “She’d started taking classes at the community college and making plans for   
the future.  She wanted to be a nurse.”  
  
Remington gently prompted, “What happened?”  
  
“The Major contacted her on her birthday and told her he missed her.  She went to see him the next   
day.  Since then they’ve been practically inseparable.  In just a few short months, he’s undone years of   
progress with her.”  
  
A tear spilled out of her eye, rolling down her cheek.  “I had a daughter I loved.  Now she’s obsessed   
with impressing her father.  To do that, she has to kill the two of you.  But she doesn’t realize that it will   
never stop.  If it’s not you, it will be someone or something else.  He’ll just use her from prison until she   
gets killed just like that poor Lily.  Lily wasn’t a bad girl.  When she realized how she’d been used, she   
couldn’t live with herself.”  
  
Laura nodded.  “I remember her, and I agree.  We don’t want that for Penny either.”  
  
Margaret pleaded, “Stop her, Mrs. Steele.  Find her.  I’ll get her treatment even if it means having her   
committed.  I don’t want her going to jail.”  
  
“Can you do that with her being of age?” Remington asked.  
  
“I’m still her guardian.  The psychiatrist won’t release her into her own care until she’s mentally stable.    
My attorney and her doctor helped me to set it up that way.”  
  
Remington and Laura exchanged a long look.  In silent communication, they held a short debate that   
ended in a draw.  He turned to Penny’s mother. “We’ll help you find her, but we have to involve the   
police on this one.  I’m sorry, but I must think of Mrs. Steele’s safety in this.”  
  
The woman nodded.  “I understand.  You said she hasn’t really done anything yet, right?”  
  
His jaw tightened.  “Legally, that is correct.”  
  
“Then it won’t matter if the police are involved.”  She rose.  “I’ve given Ms. Krebs my information, and--  
and I’ll pay you for finding my daughter.  I should do that.”  She gave them each a short nod as she   
clutched her purse.  With one last sad look, she walked away, leaving the trio.  
  
Remington closed the door behind her and returned to his seat.  “How in the bloody hell did we go from   
tracking down a known stalker to keeping her from killing us to getting paid to find her?”  
  
Mildred shrugged and turned her hands up.  “I don’t know, Boss.”  
  
“I’ll call John.  I want to put this to rest as soon as possible.”  He stood, then raised his eyebrows when   
Laura visibly winced.  
  
“Laura?”  
  
She stood, frowning.  “That call might have to wait, Rei.”  
  
Mildred’s face broke into smiles.  “Are you in labor, Mrs. Steele?”  
  
Laura winced again.  “I think I am.”  
  
  
  
Well after eight that evening, Remington drove Laura and Siobhan home from dinner, relieved but   
vaguely disappointed that their child had decided it wasn’t time to make an appearance yet.  
  
She’d contracted for nearly three hours; then, inexplicably, the spasms had stopped.  While the hospital   
staff had kept Laura under observation for the rest of the afternoon, Mildred brought Siobhán from   
school and stayed.  Her calm demeanor kept Siobhán  and Remington settled by turns.  
  
Dr. Berger had seemed pleased as she preferred to wait a few more days.  “Tomorrow makes thirty-eight   
weeks,” she told them.  “We’re certainly in the safety zone, but every day gives the baby time to grow   
stronger.  Stay on your toes.  You’ll have another child any day now.”  Siobhán had smiled at that   
remark.  
  
Laura’s irritation had increased throughout the afternoon, compounded by missing lunch--which hadn’t   
seemed to be an issue when she expected to deliver a child.  At last, the hospital released her, and the   
four of them headed for dinner.  
  
  
  
Late that evening, long after Siobhán had gone on to bed, Remington stretched across the bed, watching   
Laura move about the room.  He swirled his wine in his glass before sipping it.  
  
“Disappointed?” he asked.  
  
“Some,” she said, sitting next to him and stealing a tiny drink from his goblet.  “I guess it’s time to put   
the suitcase and the baby bag in the car.  Are you ready?”  
  
He chuckled.  “Ah, Laura.  At times I think I’m ready for anything.  Then, after days such as the past   
three, I wonder how I’ll manage the rest of the week.”  
  
Laura tried not to ask.  She started to speak, stopped, and curiosity got the best of her.  “What   
happened?”  
  
Remington drew his hand along a lock of her hair before retrieving his glass from her hand.  “I’ve   
discovered I have an allergy to management that very nearly surpasses my allergy to legwork.  It’s one   
thing to make executive decisions to irritate you or that are needed in a pinch.  It’s another entirely when   
I have time to deliberate and worry.”  
  
“You’re saying that to make me feel better,” she accused with a smile.  
  
He looked into the dark swirl of his wine.  “No.  You’ve a gift for such things, Laura.”  
  
She toyed with the curl of his hair over his collar.  “All right, if you’re saying that to make me feel better,   
it’s working.”  
  
He flicked his eyebrows at her.  “I’d planned to take you to lunch today and have you look over a few   
things at the agency before picking up Siobhán from school.  Would you be interested in joining me   
tomorrow?”  
  
Laura’s good mood vanished.  “Am I allowed?”  
  
Remington swore lightly.  “Why are you putting me in the position of being your bloody keeper, Laura?    
If you’d be sensible about caring for yourself, I’d not have to be a buggering prick about all this.”  He   
drank deeply of his wine, finishing it, and then leaned over to set it on the bedside table.  
  
When he rolled to his side again, Laura’s eyes were downcast.  “I’m sorry,” she said, “I don’t like being   
told what I can and can’t do.  I took my frustrations out on you.  I--I seem to do that a great deal.”  
  
He grinned.  “It’s a cornerstone of our relationship.”  
  
“But this time I went overboard,” she muttered apologetically.  
  
He stroked her hair again.  “This time, I’m just as nervous as you.  I don’t like feeling entirely   
responsible for the agency for even a few days.  I work much better with my partner.  But whether I   
prefer it or not, I have to manage on my own for the next few weeks.”  
  
Laura tilted her head.  “It’s not the baby making you worry?  It’s the agency?”  
  
He fumbled for her hand and kissed the palm, making her fingertips curl.  Her face flushed as the   
sensation obviously titillated her senses.  “I’ve you at home for the tyke,” he said simply.  Then he   
leaned up for a heated kiss.  
  


 

 

 


	30. Dancing

_Thursday, 15 December 1988 -- 38 weeks, 0 days  
  
_ Remington made a call to Detective Baylor in the first fifteen minutes of arriving at the agency.  Laura   
settled onto his couch with the stack of files and paper-clipped notes on which he’d written neat   
questions and thoughts.  
  
She listened with one ear while she admired his attention to detail.  For someone who purported to   
despise paperwork, he certainly had a knack for it.  
  
Mr. Steele swiftly disclosed the conversation they’d had with Penny’s mother yesterday and made   
arrangements to revisit Major Descoine’s home within the hour.  After concluding the call, Remington   
rubbed his face in frustration.  
  
“Even with all that, Laura, all they can do is hold her long enough for her mother to get there.”  
  
“Have Ms. Townsend at the station with the guardianship papers and power-of-attorney.  And find out   
what arrangements she’s made.  We don’t want Penny slipping free because her mom let her stay the   
night at home,” Laura suggested.  
  
“I’ll do that.  I can call her from the car.”  He stood, rebuttoning his coat.  “Ah, I don’t have to go with   
John,” he offered.  
  
“Of course, you do,” she said, deliberately keeping her voice sincere.  “I’ll be here, safe and sound, doing   
paperwork with my feet up.  If anything happens, I’ll page you.  Otherwise, we’ll plan on having a late   
lunch and picking up Siobhán this afternoon.”  
  
Relief clear in his expression, Remington kissed her before leaving.  She firmly squashed down her   
irritation over missing the action.  Having the baby roll around a couple of times to get comfortable   
helped to affirm her decision to stay at the agency rather than ride in the car.  
  
In the meantime, she wrote her own notes answering Remington’s questions, made suggestions for   
Sandra and Kaleb to pursue on a couple of cases, and signed off on the ones Sandra and Mildred had   
closed in the past week, including two that Laura’d had to drop in Sandra’s lap at the last minute.  
  
The redheaded detective had done a good job handling both cases.  Sandra’s only real weakness as a   
detective had to do with writing reports, but since coming to work for the Steeles, she’d improved by   
leaps and bounds.  
  
That the completed case files were in her stack surprised Laura.  Remington had no problem signing off   
on a security setup, but he still passed over casework to her for a final review and signature.  Laura had   
anticipated he would take over that last step from her with aplomb.  She hadn’t realized until his   
confession last night that he still deferred to her experience.  
  
The compliment flattered and unsettled her all at the same time.  
  
The baby tossed and turned, shifting and kicking in the meantime.  Her back ached.  She wasn’t sure if it   
was residual pain from the contractions the day before, because she was eight and half months pregnant   
or because there were new contractions.  She ignored it while she worked.  
  
Mildred popped her head in after a while, using the poor excuse of bringing in a file and a question.  But   
Laura was uneasy enough to be grateful for the interruption.  
  
“How are you doing, Mrs. Steele?”  
  
Laura dropped the current file on the low table with the others and rolled her eyes slightly.  “Doing my   
best to keep myself entertained.”  
  
“Is it working?”  Mildred plopped down into the chair next to her.  
  
“Not really, but at least I’m getting a few things done.”  
  
“You don’t have to worry about him, you know,” the blonde assured her.  
  
Laura slid a glance her way.  “I know.  It’s a habit now.”  
  
“Not a bad one.”  
  
“No, I suppose not.”  
  
“Well, if you’re not terribly involved in your paperwork, I need to bounce a situation off you that I’m   
working on.”  
  
Grateful for the distraction, Laura nodded.  “Lay it on me.”  
  
  
  
Remington returned just after lunch, still impeccably dressed and without a hair out of place.  Laura was   
alone again after spending most of the morning with Mildred.  They’d resorted to white-boarding the case  
so the two could visually trace the flow of money and disappearing property.  They hadn’t solved it yet,   
but the process had unveiled two leads to pursue.  Mildred had Ian chasing down one while she tackled   
the other.  
  
Remington crossed over, touching her cheek before sitting on the table across from her.  Idly, he picked   
up a file she’d finished.  
  
“How did it go?” Laura asked.  
         
Dropping the folder back on the stack, he gave her an odd look.  “Disturbing at best.”  She tilted her   
head, waiting for him to go on.  “I rode with John.  He and two of his officers went in and found Penny   
in the attic just as her mother said.  They served the restraining order to her and arrested her for   
assaulting you.”  
  
Laura frowned and he held up a hand. “Yes, I know.  It’s flimsy, and I dropped the charges in favor of   
Penny’s being released into her mother’s custody--on the assurance her mother was taking her directly to   
a facility where she’ll be confined for the time being.  In the meantime, her mother is working on getting   
a court order forbidding her daughter to have contact with her father.  I don’t know how successful she’ll   
be, given that Penny is of age, but she’s pursuing it all the same.”  
  
She crossed her arms.  “I know it’s the right thing to do, but it’s certainly less satisfying than having her   
locked up in jail.”  
  
Remington nodded.  “My thoughts exactly.”  He took her hand in his.  “I have an extraordinary urge to   
enjoy your company for the rest of the afternoon without all the stress and urgency of the past few   
weeks.”  
  
Laura looked down at the files.  “Give me fifteen minutes to go over these with you, and you’ve got a   
deal.  Besides, we’re hungry.”  
  
He framed her face with his hands for a deliberate kiss that did much to settle both of them.  Together,   
they closed out the work for the day, passing the files to Ian as they walked out the door.  
  
  
  
Over an exquisite dinner Remington created out of a roasted chicken with mushroom stuffing.  Siobhán   
discovered her dad was serious about the danger being only temporary when she asked if she could sleep   
over at Caitlyn’s on Saturday night.  
         
With a quick glance at Laura, who only smiled back at him, Remington nodded.  “Certainly, Siobhán.    
What time should we drop you off?”  He enjoyed his daughter’s look of astonishment at his easy   
answer.  He was sure she had been ready to put up a fight if he'd said no.  
  
Warily, she answered, “Four, if you don’t mind me going to dinner with Caitlyn’s family; six, if you do.”  
  
Laura looked down at her plate to conceal her smirk, but since Remington was sitting across from her, he   
caught it as he answered, “Four it is.”  Strictly for his own amusement, he turned the conversation   
around.  “Do you have plans for tomorrow evening, _a stór_?”    
         
She gave him a narrow-eyed look.  “No.  Why?”  
  
He "tsked" at her.  “Such suspicion.  Each year I take Laura to see the opening performance of The   
Nutcracker, and we have dinner afterward.  We would enjoy your company if you would like to attend.    
However, if being with your parents is too confining, I’m certain Mildred would appreciate an evening   
with you; or you could call Jennifer if you care to make other plans.”  
  
Siobhán pursed her lips and looked at Laura--who did her best to keep a neutral expression on her face   
even as her eyes glinted with amusement.  Peering back at Remington, she searched his face for   
deception.  “It’s really up to me?”  
  
Raising his eyebrows, he swallowed a bite of his chicken before answering.  “Of course.”  
  
“I’d like to go with you.”  Turning, she asked Laura, “Mom, what should I wear?”  
  
“What about your gray dress from the Policeman’s Ball?” she suggested.  
  
Siobhán’s eyes lit up.  “Formal wear?”  
  
Laura smiled.  “It is the ballet.  Of course.”  
  
  
  
Friday, Laura pulled the pillow over her head while Remington and Siobhán shuffled through their   
morning routine.  She dozed until the ache in her back became uncomfortable, then she dressed and   
played housekeeper, idly straightening the living room and her office.  A load of laundry went into the   
wash, and then she settled in to watch a movie.  
  
Around noon, the phone rang.  Laura scooted off the barstool at the kitchen island where she had been   
picking at a bowl of fruit for lunch and made a waddling dash to the side table in the living room.  She   
picked up the telephone with one hand and pressed the other against the small of her back.  “Hello?”  
  
“Hey, Lunatic.”  
  
Laura rolled her eyes at her sister’s nickname for her.  “Hi, Steamroller.”  
  
“How are you today?” Kate asked with a touch too much innocence in her voice.  
  
Muttering an obscenity under her breath that made Kate laugh, she snapped, “How did you know?”  
  
“Oh, just chalk it up to ‘twintuition.’  How close are your contractions?”  
  
“Not close enough to call Remington or Dr. Berger.  Dr. Berger will tell me to stay close to home, and   
Remington will pester me every time I wince.”  
  
“What time do you want us there?”  
  
“Us?  Are all of you coming?”  
  
“It’s Friday, Laura.  We’ll bring our nanny, Tiffany.  She can stay with the twins while Murphy and I   
come to the hospital.”  
  
“What if it’s just another false alarm, Katy?  I don’t want you to fly in for something silly.”  
  
“Let’s go back to ‘twintuition,’ and I’ll worry about what happens if we’re both wrong.”  
  
“Remington has tickets for us for _The Nutcracker_ tonight.  He’s going to be disappointed if we miss it.”  
  
“What time?”  
  
“Seven.”  
  
“Perfect.  By the time I round everyone up and get to the Denver airport, we’ll get in about that time.    
We’ll go straight to your place and get the kids ready for bed, then head for Cedars.  Just try not to hold   
your breath during the performance--it’s a dead giveaway.”  
  
“You really think I’ll make it through the ballet?”  
  
“Oh, probably.  You haven’t sounded out of breath yet while we’ve talked.  Just be prepared if your   
water breaks.”  
  
“Oh God, I didn’t think of that.  Maybe I should tell Remington after all.”  Laura shifted the phone to a   
shoulder and began picking at her nails.  
  
“Don’t.  He’ll figure it out soon enough.  If you have to go to the hospital earlier, it’s not any big deal.    
How far apart are your contractions?”  
  
“Ten or fifteen minutes, more if I move around.”  
  
Kate asked bluntly, “Do they hurt?”  
  
“They're uncomfortable, but not painful,” Laura replied.  “Not like earlier this week, but they've been   
consistent all morning.”  
  
“Call your doctor and let her know what’s going on.  I’ll see you tonight.”  
  
“Kate?”  
  
“Yes, Laura.”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
“Always, twin.”  
  
  
  
Laura had Fred stop by the penthouse to pick up her overnight bag for the hospital.  She also gave him   
the baby bag to put into the trunk of the limo.  
  
He swallowed hard.  “You okay, Mrs. Steele?”  
  
She grinned.  “I suspect we’ll need these later on tonight, but I don’t want to mention it to Mr. Steele or   
Siobhán yet.  We don’t need to worry them unnecessarily.”  
  
“Yes, ma’am.”  
  
“But stay near the phone this afternoon and during the performance.”  
  
“Will do, ma’am.”  He touched his cap and returned to the limo.  
  
  
  
Remington returned home with an excited Siobhán.  “Mom, I scored an ‘A’ on my physics test!” she   
caroled as she dashed through the door.  
  
Laura caught her in a long hug.  “Fantastic, sweetie.  You certainly studied hard enough.  You earned it.”  
  
Siobhán reached across the island to steal a grape from the bowl of fruit Laura had in front of her.    
“Mmm, I’m hungry.”  
  
“Eat a snack before the show.  It will be a while until dinner.”  Laura felt a little guilty when she said   
that.  The way things were progressing, they would be lucky to get dinner at all.  The contractions had   
stepped up to the next level, becoming somewhat more frequent, although they still didn’t fall into the   
category of “painful” yet.  
  
“I will.”  Siobhan snitched a handful of grapes this time before disappearing into her room.  
  
Remington took her face in his hands, eyeing her carefully.  “Did you rest today?  You look tired.”  
  
Laura found it incredibly difficult to look her partner straight in the eye and lie--so she clung to the single   
truth she had instead.  “I did rest.”  Then she leaned in to kiss him, hoping to distract him.  
  
It worked, but his wary expression told her he would keep a careful eye on her tonight.  
  
  
  
She took her time getting dressed.  The red gown clung above her belly before falling to the ground.  She   
cringed at the bulge, her swollen breasts, and her nearly invisible ankles.  Thank goodness the last    
couldn’t be seen as the dress brushed the floor.  She took a last glance in the mirror and caught   
Remington’s smug grin.  
        
“What’s got you looking like the Cheshire Cat?”  She put her hands on her hips in annoyance as he drew   
his fingers along her bare neck, playing with the fat spirals that dripped down her back.  
  
“Sterling Holloway, Alice in Wonderland, Walt Disney, 1951.  You look like a Grecian goddess, love.”  
  
“How can you possibly say that?  I’m huge.”  
  
“Ah, but Laura, you are wonderfully rotund with child.”  He drew his fingers down her bare throat and   
across her equally bare collarbone.  The silken fabric clung to the curve of her shoulders, and he laid a   
kiss just above it.  “My child,” he said quietly.  
  
Laura hated to admit that when he flattered her with seeming sincerity, she fell for it every single time.    
Either he meant it or he knew exactly how to push the right buttons.  It wouldn’t do her any good to try   
and guess.  Instead, she leaned her head back against his tuxedo jacket and tried to see them as he did in   
the mirror.  And she smiled.  
  
  
  
Remington saw that shy, sweet smile Laura so rarely let out, accompanied by a devilish sparkle in her   
maple eyes.  The former meant that he was seeing _her_ \--that enchanting woman who’d captured his   
fascination from the day they met, the one capable of dashing about a winery nearly nude as a distraction   
for a board of directors.  The latter meant that she was up to something.  For the life of him, he couldn’t   
decide what it might be; she was too damned pregnant to go haring off to trip the light fantastic   
somewhere.  
  
Siobhán broke his concentration when she breezed in clad in the grey gown and a new pair of high heels.    
He frowned when he realized she stood nearly eye-to-eye with him.  Laura had helped her to sweep up   
her hair in a simple twist and apply a light touch of color to her face--appropriate for her age, but only   
enhancing the teenager’s ripening beauty.  God help the first boy who asked her on a date.  Remington   
wondered if Laura would stop him from tailing the couple when it happened.  
  
“Mom, can I borrow a bracelet?”  
        
“Of course.  Take a look.”  Laura pushed her jewelry box toward Siobhán who fingered through the   
drawers with care.  Laura’s collection wasn’t extensive--not yet.  But it held an array of pretty pieces   
Laura’d had prior to marriage and the half-dozen or so he'd designed for her since.  
  
Siobhán picked up the bracelet Remington had given Laura for their first Christmas. “You’re wearing this  
one, right?”  
  
“Uh huh,” Laura agreed.    
  
“Then may I borrow this one?”  She lifted out a simple bracelet strung with small diamonds.  Laura had   
told him once that her mother had given it to her.  At the time, she hadn’t had much appreciation for it,   
but over the years, she had taken to wearing it on occasion.  
  
“You may.”  Laura took it from her and laid it across Siobhán’s slim wrist to fasten it.  “Your grandma   
Abigail gave that one to me when I graduated from college.”  
  
“It’s pretty.”  
  
“It is.  And so are you.  Are you ready?”  
  
“I think so,” Siobhán answered.  
         
“Remington?”  Laura looked at him in the mirror.  
  
He saw the three of them decked out in their finery.  The stray thought crossed his mind about how far   
each of them had come. Before his mood could turn maudlin though, he flashed his charming grin.    
“Ladies, shall I escort you to the limo?”  
  
  
  
Siobhán sat on the edge of her seat, enraptured by the ballet.  Since his first year as Remington Steele, he   
had maintained a box at the playhouse.  Initially, it had fit the image he’d wanted to create; but a short   
time later, he’d discovered that Laura adored the ballet.  It was worth the occasional tedium to see her   
delight during the show.  
  
 _The Nutcracker_ had become a holiday tradition for them.  He’d taken Laura for the first time a few   
months after Murphy and Bernice had left the agency.  She'd been forlorn during that first holiday season   
without them.  The following year, during the obnoxious Cannes impasse, he’d managed to talk her into   
going “as friends.”  He grinned at the memory and reached over to lace his fingers with Laura’s.  They   
hadn’t missed a season since.  
  
His acute hearing caught Laura’s swift inhalation, hardly audible above the music of the “Waltz of the   
Flowers.”  The accompanying minute clutch of her fingers in his put him on full alert.  He glanced at her,   
but she stayed focused--apparently on the dancing in front of her.  
  
As if inadvertently, he moved their clasped hands so that his wrist grazed her belly.  He shifted his other   
arm so that he could see his watch.  
  
Five minutes later, he had undeniable proof Laura was in labor: two contractions, both over a minute   
long, and hard enough to make Laura breathe shallowly.  For the rest of the ballet, Remington kept track.  
  
When the dancers took their curtain calls, Siobhán leapt out of her chair to applaud wildly.  Remington   
stood as well, lending Laura a much-needed hand.  He had to give her credit--she didn’t give away her   
level of discomfort although he knew the contractions had to be bordering on painful by now.  
        
He kept Siobhán occupied with chatter about the show while carefully escorting Laura to where Fred   
waited with the limousine.  Given the circumstances, he was terribly grateful that boxholders had a   
private drive.  From Laura’s pale face by the time they reached the car, he wasn’t sure how much more   
she could take.  
  
“Laura, darling, Fred’s just outside,” he whispered in her ear.  In past months, reminding her of the     
limo’s presence had become second nature.  Today, she seemed not to hear him until he handed her into   
the car.  Siobhán slid in behind him, and Fred shut the door.  
  
As Fred began to pull away from the curb, he asked, “Dinner, sir?”  
  
“Ah, no, mate.  Cedars-Sinai is our next stop.”  
  
Fred touched his cap.  “You called that one, Mrs. Steele.”  
  
Siobhán leaned across Remington to peer at her mom.  “Are you having the baby?”  
  
Laura nodded in answer, breathing through another contraction.  
          
Remington frowned.  “Exactly how long have you been in labor?”  
  
She shook her head, unable to speak at the moment.  
  
Fred offered one.  “At least since two.  She had me come by and put her things in the trunk.”  
  
“You’ve been in labor since two?”  
  
“Since I woke up this morning,” Laura said softly.  “I didn’t know if it was real at first.  By the time I   
talked to Kate at noon, I had a good idea it wasn’t going to stop.  But since the contractions weren’t very   
regular or painful at all, I didn’t want to spoil our evening by walking around a hospital room.”  
  
He forcefully reminded himself that this wasn’t the time to argue with her despite his disappointment at   
not knowing.  Then he frowned at her again.  “You were contracting while we dressed for the show?”  
  
Laura nodded again, breathing shallowly once more.  She turned to lay her head against his shoulder.  He   
cradled her there with one arm while keeping up a spirited conversation with Siobhán as they rode to the   
hospital.  
  
Fred stopped at the Labor and Delivery entrance to offload his passengers.  Laura moaned, squeezing   
Remington’s hand hard as Siobhán shrieked happily as she scrambled out of the car.  He forgot about her   
as he watched Laura go somewhere deep inside herself for a long minute.  
  
“That hurt,” she complained softly for his ears only.  He nodded and drew her out of the car.  
       
“Damn, Steele.  Do you really have to dress quite so formally for a trip to the hospital?” a man's voice   
called out.  
  
Remington turned to find Kate and Murphy standing on the sidewalk with Siobhán still hugging her aunt.    
“Michaels, you mean they dress casually for this sort of thing in the colonies?  Tsk, tsk, tsk.  What a   
bloody lack of decorum.”  He caught his brother-in-law’s hand and wrist for a quick squeeze before   
helping Laura to the sidewalk and into her sister’s embrace.  
  
“I guess you don’t want these then?”  Murphy lifted a leather carry-all Remington recognized as his own.  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
“A change of clothing for all of you.  Kate thought to bring it from the penthouse while we were getting   
the boys settled.”  
  
“God bless you,” Remington muttered as he loosened his tie and freed the top two studs on his shirt.  
  
The hospital staff settled Laura in a room and notified her doctor.  Remington and Murphy waited   
outside the room while Siobhán changed clothes and Kate helped Laura exchange her evening gown for a  
hospital gown.  
  
“How is she doing?” Murphy asked.  
  
Remington swore.  “The bloody woman’s been in labor for the better part of the day and didn’t bother   
cluing me in.  I had to figure it out for myself during the ballet.”  
  
His brother roared with laughter.  “How’d she manage to get past you on that one?”  
  
“I’m not certain, but I think she distracted me with a kiss and a smile,” Remington admitted.  
  
“Always a sucker for a pretty face, Steele.”  
  
“As if you’re any different, Michaels.  You fell for the same pretty face.”  Both men smirked   
companionably at each other.  
         
Siobhán popped her head out of the room.  “All clear.”  
  
Remington jumped to his feet, and Murphy followed him inside where Laura paced with Kate holding her  
hand as they walked.  Remington ducked into the bathroom to change into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.    
The nurse at the birthing class had warned him not to wear anything he couldn’t replace.  He’d decided it   
was best not to dwell on the implications of that as he turned and rehung the tuxedo on the hanger Kate   
had thoughtfully provided.  He fingered Laura’s red dress hanging on the back of the bathroom door.  
        
He opened the door just as Dr. Berger breezed in, full of smiles and hearty chuckles.  “So, Mrs. Steele,   
we’re here for real this time.  How are you doing?”  
  
Laura only gave her a wan smile in response as she sat on the edge of the bed.  Remington perched near   
her, rubbing her back.  
  
“Okay, everyone out except for Mom and Dad while I do a quick exam.”  
  
Laura protested as the others left the room, “I want to go too.”  
  
Remington kissed their clasped fingers in response while Dr. Berger grinned.  “You wouldn’t believe how  
many times I’ve heard that.  Okay, Dad--your job is to watch the monitors and tell me when Laura is   
having a contraction.”  
  
He didn’t argue, but his sensitive fingers could tell him much more reliably than a pair of sensors with a   
tendency to slip out of place.  Moments later, the exam was finished.  
  
“Laura, you’re at almost an eight--which means you’re definitely having this baby tonight, but we have a   
little way to go.  I want you up and walking as much as possible.  Don’t be surprised if your water   
breaks; it can go at anytime.  The nurses will be checking on you; otherwise, I’ll be back in an hour.”  
  
As the doctor left, Laura moaned her way through another contraction.  Remington placed counter-  
pressure on her back, massaging lightly as he did so.  When the muscles began to unknot, he coached her   
through the end.  “That’s done, love.  Breathe.”  
  
“An hour?” Laura gasped.  “Is she for real?  Where’s that epidural?”  
  
“I thought you didn’t want one?”  
  
“I’ve changed my mind.  This hurts,” she complained.  
  
“I’ll buzz the nurse.”  
  
Unfortunately for Laura, the anesthesiologist had to be paged, as he’d already left the hospital.  While she  
paced in discomfort, Murphy and Siobhán made a late night run for dinner--partially because the teen   
was hungry, partially because Kate and Murphy had the presence of mind to realize that Siobhán didn’t   
necessarily need to see a great deal of Laura’s labor.  
  
Kate stayed behind and made the obligatory phone calls to the family.  Frances promised to bring Abigail   
in the morning; Mildred abandoned her bowling team to drive straight to the hospital.    
  
Mildred arrived within minutes of Murphy and Siobhán and took it upon herself to keep an eye on the   
teen through the next several hours.  Whenever Siobhán began to look nervous, Mildred patiently talked   
to her and helped her to understand what was happening.  
  
Remington was only peripherally aware of all this.  Occasionally, he’d look up and see that either   
Murphy or Mildred had Siobhán in hand as they wandered between the waiting area and the hospital   
room.  He asked his daughter at one point if she wanted to stay or go home, and she’d emphatically   
insisted on staying put.  
  
“Don’t worry about me, Da.  Mom needs you right now.  Ms. Mildred and Uncle Murphy are hanging   
out with me.  Just … you’ll tell me if anything weird happens, right?”  
  
“Of course, _a stór_.”  Grateful for his daughter’s maturity, he kissed her on the temple as she dragged   
Murphy and Mildred down the hall to wait some more.  
  
Remington refused to leave Laura’s side.  He and Kate kept up a distracting friendly chatter and took   
turns rubbing Laura’s back and walking with her.  Predictably, her temper increased along with her   
progress.  
  
Dr. Berger returned, and Remington pointedly reminded her about Laura’s epidural.  
  
“I know.  He’s on his way; he had an emergency to address first at the other end of the hospital.  But     
let’s see how we’re doing.”  
  
Kate joined her husband in the waiting room as Laura wearily sat on the bed.  “I want this to be over,   
Dr. Berger,” she said.  
  
The doctor patted her hand.  “It will be before much longer.”  
  
Remington tried to distract Laura with silly baby names while she had her exam.  “Sam Spade Steele.    
There’s some rather nice alliteration there.”  
  
“Nice try, Rei.  Not happening.”  She closed her eyes and gripped his hand hard as Dr. Berger finished.  
  
“Laura, you’re almost there.  Nine and a half.  Let me know when you feel like pushing, okay?  I’m not   
going very far at all.”  
  
She nodded and a frission of anxiety washed over Remington, laced with a healthy dose of fear.  He   
forced all of it away though in favor of helping Laura breathe past another contraction.  
  
He helped her to the edge of the bed, but before she stood, she reached around to hug him to her.  With   
him as her only witness, Laura gave in to all her fears and cried in great sobs.  “I can’t do this, Rei.  It   
hurts.”  
  
Hating the feeling of helplessness, he clutched her to him and tried to find the words to soothe her.  “Of   
course, you can.  You’ve gone the better part of the day already.  Before long the little tyke with be here,   
and it will be over.”  
  
“I’m so scared,” she whispered.  
  
 _Bugger me, so am I._  “You’ll do fine, love,” he told her.  
  
She looked up, eyes wide and alarmed.  “No matter what, you won’t go?”  
  
He shook his head, understanding that logic and sensibility had little place in this hospital room.  “No.  I   
won’t go anywhere.  I promise.”  
  
With that assurance, she pulled her emotions inside once again and wiped away her tears.

 

 

 


	31. House of Steele

_Saturday, 17 December 1988  
  
_ In the small hours of the morning, the same ones where a nameless thief had spent the better part of his   
life stealing, making love, planning a heist, or simply living, he made a series of new discoveries.  
  
The first: whatever strength of character Laura might have demonstrated over the years paled in   
comparison to watching her bring their child into the world.  He held her hand, rubbed her back, cracked   
the occasional joke and smiled at her snippy retorts.  When she pushed the tyke from her body, he sat   
behind her, supporting her as her whole body strained.  It was, he thought, making love in a whole   
different manner.  
  
The second: regardless of one’s dexterity, holding a pair of scissors to cut his son’s umbilical cord   
required a great deal of concentration and sheer luck not to hurt the screaming child with flailing fists, a   
bright red face and a shock of black hair.  
         
The third: whatever price he and Laura had paid in their wanderings over the years had been worth every   
moment to be in this place.  
  
He unashamedly wept for nearly an hour.  
  
  
  
While the nurse, Frances and Kate resettled Laura into a new room, Remington examined his son with   
fascination.  Siobhán plastered herself against the nursery window to peer at her new baby brother, with   
Mildred and Murphy on either side of her.  No one had slept through the long hours of labor.  Now at   
almost four in the morning, Remington felt as energized as if he was in the middle of a heist.  
  
At last they gave him permission to push his son’s bassinet to Laura’s room.  The family piled in behind   
him to coo over the baby.  Before long, the nurse shooed them all out, telling them to come back in the   
morning.  Murphy and Kate promised to return mid-day with the rest of the family.  
        
In that short period of time, Siobhán fell asleep on the chair.  Mildred started to wake her, but Remington   
shook his head.  
  
“Leave her.  She’ll be fine.”  For some obscure reason, he wanted her to stay.  
  
Mildred kissed Remington on the cheek, understanding his reasons perhaps better than he, then did the   
same with Laura and their son.  “Nice family you've got there.  You two did good work.”  She stopped   
to caress Siobhán’s hair and left with one last smile at the scene.  
  
As soon as Mildred left, Remington found a blanket in a closet and draped it over Siobhán.  Laura   
watched him with solemn brown eyes.  He sat on the edge of the bed, kicking his shoes off in the process.  
  
“Scoot over, love.”  She didn’t question him, only resettled the baby so that the three of them fit side-by-  
side on the hospital bed.  “Tell me if you get uncomfortable.”  
  
“I will, but mostly I want to sleep.”  
  
“What are we going to name him?”  
  
Laura turned to look at him over her shoulder.  “What do you want to name him?”  
  
From her place on the sofa where she’d opened her eyes to watch them settle, Siobhán said softly,   
“Ciarán Reid Steele.”  
  
“Ciarán Reid?” Laura echoed and glanced down at the sleeping little boy with his startling black hair.  
  
“Ciarán because that should have been Da’s name and Reid because you’re always calling him ‘Rei’ as a   
nickname.”  Siobhán rose from the chair to sit on an unclaimed inch of the bed.  
  
But Remington shook his head.  “I can’t name him ‘Ciarán,’ _a stór_ ; I think I was serious about starting   
anew with the names.  But I like ‘Reid.’  We’ve not settled on a middle name for him.”  
  
“Nicholas Reid Steele?” Laura asked with interest.  
  
Remington nodded and looked across to Siobhán.  “What do you think?”  
  
“I like it.  But I’m still naming something Ciarán because I like the name.”  
  
He leaned over to press a kiss to his daughter’s forehead.  “I’ll get you a cat.”  
  
He resettled Siobhán onto the chair, unfolding it into a makeshift bed.  Then he crawled in next to Laura   
again as she attempted to nurse their new son.  As the baby suckled, Remington fell asleep with an arm   
draped across his wife.

 

 

 


	32. Christmas Day

When Mildred stepped through the foyer door, she halted on the precipice of the living room, unwilling to  
get caught in the crossfire of the wrapping paper battle occurring between Remington and Siobhán.  The   
teen had the undeniable upper hand as she used her mom and baby brother for cover.  Remington glared   
as he waited for his daughter to make a move.  
  
Laura stealthily reached behind her, and Siobhán dropped a tight wad of paper into her left hand while   
keeping a tight hold on Nick with her right arm.  With a twinkle in her eye, she zinged a fast ball square   
into Remington’s chest.  He staggered backward comically and collapsed at Mildred’s feet.  
  
“Foul play, I declare.  Did you bring it?”  
  
“I did.  Merry Christmas, Mr. Steele.”  
  
He got to his feet and planted a kiss on both of her cheeks.  “Happy Christmas, Mildred.  Eggnog?”  
  
“I’d love some.”  
  
Siobhán bounded up to Mildred.  “Ms. Mildred, come see what I got for Christmas!”  
  
Remington stopped her from bolting back into the living room as Laura came to join them, holding a   
sleeping infant decked out in a red velvet sleeper and Santa cap.  “Siobhán, you have one more gift from   
all of us that Mildred was kind enough to bring over this morning.”  
  
The teen’s grey eyes grew wide.  “Another gift?  Da, you and Mom are going to spoil me terribly.”  
  
“I hope so,” Laura put in.  
  
Mildred dug around in the large wicker bag she carried and came up with a pure black kitten with copper   
eyes.  With the long hair and squashed face of a pure-bred Persian, the yawning cat woke up and peered   
suspiciously at the lot.  
  
“For me?” Siobhán gasped.  
  
“Aye, a stór.  His name is ‘Ciarán.’  I promised ye as much.”  
  
Siobhán fingered the Celtic cross pendant set with a tiny red stone in the center that her parents had given   
her that morning and crossed her arms.  She dashed tears from her eyes before she took the tiny kitten to   
her chest.  
         
Mildred watched with a light heart as Remington scooped his son out of Laura’s arms and set the infant   
on his shoulder with practiced grace.  
  
Mildred promptly nipped the newborn from him.  “Nope.  You’ve had him all morning.  My turn.”  
         
“Aye, then we’ll pour you some eggnog.”  He pulled his wife into the kitchen while Mildred followed   
Siobhán into the living room.    
  
Sitting with her “grandkids” near the Christmas tree, Mildred watched the kitten bat around wrapping   
paper and promptly get entangled in the ribbon.  She looked up in time to see her kids locked in a   
scorching kiss under the mistletoe someone had hung in the kitchen.

 

 


	33. Epilogue

The children grew up extraordinarily close despite their age differences.  Siobhán stayed at home until her  
last year of college when Jennifer and Caitlyn finally convinced her to move in with them while she  
attended medical school.  She opened her own practice in Los Angeles as an obstetrician.  
  
Nick adored his older sister but followed in his parents' footsteps in the agency.  He grew into a near-  
carbon copy of his father, only with the clear gray eyes of his sister and their great-grandfather.  
  
Two years after Nick was born, Grace Elizabeth came along.  Petite and auburn-haired like her mom,  
she was the only one of the three to sport her father’s stunning blue eyes.  Remington’s heart very nearly  
broke when she moved to New York City at the tender age of eighteen to become a ballerina with one of  
the famous dance companies based there.  
  
  
  
_Christmas 2009_  
  
Remington tugged Laura down until she sat between his long legs on the sofa in the living room.  Nick  
and Grace tore into their gifts while Siobhán and her husband, Colin, watched their five-year old daughter  
climb into Mildred’s lap, chattering earnestly about her two new kittens.  Behind the little girl, the siblings  
zinged comments ranging from witty to ribald at each other, interspersed with guffaws of laughter and  
generous smiles as they unwrapped gifts and recalled happy memories.  
         
Remington rested his chin on Laura’s shoulder, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair.  She turned,  
cradling his cheek with her palm, and laid a kiss with a hint of heat onto his lips.  
  
“Merry Christmas, Rei.”  
  
“Happy Christmas, love.”          

 

_Finis_  
---  
  
 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acknowledgments
> 
> This is a good time to thank the three people who helped bring the Steeling a Dream Trilogy into this world. I'm convinced no one can write well in a vacuum unless they are truly brilliant--yeah, you know who you are ... it ain't me.
> 
> These women have been an awesome support team:
> 
> My midwife, Wilma, who held my hand throughout this entire process: editing, suggesting, rapping me on the knuckles when necessary and frequently cheering me along. She's edited nearly every word I've written since I started with Two Holts for the Price of Steele a year ago. If anyone knows where she lives, I owe her an enormous bouquet of roses in her favorite color. I don't know anyone else who would take on the huge task of editing three novels for some 260,000 words plus the 30-odd short stories I've written in the past year. I keep waiting for her to say ENOUGH! She hasn't yet--to my eternal gratitude.
> 
> My obstetrician, Debra, who was there at the end to catch, giving the whole thing a final read-through and making sure nothing fell on the floor. If Debra didn't understand what I intended... then it was time to rewrite the word/sentence/paragraph. Yes, Debra--Laura has to come clean with Frances.
> 
> My coach, the amazing Lovesteele, who put up with my bitching, nagging, ranting, begging and screams for chocolate while I carried this baby around for five freakin' months. She's been my muse too many times to count. Without her, I would not have figured out how to resolve the mystery. Thank heavens for instant messaging and late night debates over motives, villains, teenagers and pregnancy--not to mention little boys, hubbies, the economy in general and how good a margarita would go down right about NOW.


End file.
